Why must this be when I can see the feeling so intense?
The future holds the magic of my thoughts these passing days
The planning actions of my mind just wither in the haze
Time is wasted longing for the bud to flower and bloom
Waiting, hoping, anticipating what might be happening soon
Possibility is just a game played in fantasy throughout
Why must this be withheld within. What is it all about?
If only I could touch the flower and feel it's beauty in my strife
I could be at ease and aim to please of my life
-Written by Cynthia Lennon, published in 1978
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