Coombe Hill
We were crossing the green field
Picking up the wild flowers
We drank the cheap wine
Spoke most beautiful words
Once there on a Coombe Hill
We were walking for hours
And our lives seemed so fine
In the best of the worlds
Then we passed the old tombstones
With names undistinguished
We climbed up the Coombe Hill
Looked down from birds fly
Over there was a home
With a garden relinquished
-“Is it occupied still?”
But you didn’t reply..
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