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In the pocket of my memory Stored images of the past - |
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There is always music There is a ballroom where we dance The waltz, the rumba, the lindy hop; The ballads are sweet, the jazz hot. Musicians in tuxedos, potted palms, Trumpets blaze, saxophones moan, drumsticks dance, The singer lit by spotlight. |
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The trumpet calls us to remember when we fell in love, Glorious open tones - smooth, luscious melodies. Harry James, Charlie Spivak, Louis Armstrong They're playing our song. |
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These small joys keep the image alive. Though we are caught by time, The years drop away And we are young again. |
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- Lynn Chirico |