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A long time ago,

I dated a boy who used to sing songs

to me in Spanish and French.

We talked late into the night about life and love

and walked when Autumn came.

His fingers

( it seemed to me then)

were as long and as lovely as silver.

When we got back from our walks we would

drink hot coffee and laugh

and then he would play again for me.

* There are more songs Anna,

( he would say)

to play,

than

Jesus loves me.

Every time I hear a piano play now,

I

think

of

that