Could you give a day to me?
For an early morning bicycle ride along the hill side, a midday crazy dance in the rain and in the night, together we will gaze into the starlight.

Could you give a day to me?
Forget suits and heels. Your ripped jeans, blue checkered shirt and I will put on my yellow scarf onto what they call ‘plain clothes’.

Could you give a day to me?
In the park bench, we will sit down to read lines from books bought from the old man across the road. Or listen to some country music of unheard singers.

Could you give a day to me?
We will lie in the grass fields and talk endlessly of things no one bothered to listen. The ruthless past. The mutable future. This mystic present. We will try and pass them all.

Could you give a day to me?
I will try to recall and tell you about all the constellations my mother taught me when I was a child. And of course, I will hear patiently to the childhood stories, you choose to share.

So, could you give a day to me?
Or will you still remain unseemingly busy?

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