In this lonely old room
I drift off to sleep,
As I walk to the beach,
I see the glow of the moon.
What a beautiful sight,
When I dream in this lonely old room.
This room of white,
Not a soul nearby,
Only nurses who roam the halls.
This room of white,
Almost like a tomb.
Oh, my dreams,
The place I yearn for,
My true love is Italy.
Yet I look out the window, and
All I see is the doom.
I'm still here,
But maybe soon,
I'll be outside the cafe,
In the old country, we call Italy.
The place I've always dreamed of going,
So, meet me at high noon,
I'll save you a seat.
This is what I dream of,
In this lonely old room.
Copyright © Shirley Hudson | Year Posted 2025
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