(S. Silverstein). . Rings of grass, crowns of flowers. Gone, gone, gone, gone. Furs that are woven of whispering hours. Gone, gone, gone, gone. . She's gone away where the rings are real.
Ring, ring, telephone ring, somebody's here, "Hey baby what'cha doing?". I've been wondering where you been, now and then I think about you and me. No need fightin' about things we can't recall, it don't matter now at all.