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This song is a brief chronicle of frequently separated lovers. It begins on the Spanish Steps of Rome. English poet John Keats died in a small house at the foot of the steps. I wrote this one night in New York. ------------------ Meet me on the Spanish steps oh you will not wait long Near the place where we first met it was on the streets of Rome You were young and your eyes were bright your cheeks were flush and fair We were eye to eye on the Spanish steps I can see you standin there When I was sailing the Portland coast your face came back to me It became so real it was never a memory A friend once asked would I send a word to the one in the long blue skirt I didn't want to lose you I didn't know what one was worth Later on we met again and we drank by the Oslo docks The fire of art shot from your hands spillin freely from your heart More than a smell of a memory and more than a love by choice The thing that I remember best was the beauty in your voice So now it's you and I my love and the two you bore for me I love you for your strength that you carry so quietly So let us hold our glasses high and keep our voices hid And take me down on this summer's eve beneath the birches now Meet me on the Spanish steps oh you will not wait long Near the place where we first met it was on the streets of Rome You were young and your eyes were bright your cheeks were flush and fair We were eye to eye on the Spanish steps I can see you smilin there I still see you smilin there From Letras Mania