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When winter is on again
fragrance ends
and the withered leaves
drift down from the dying trees
as they find release.
But I'll remember it:
the sweet perfume of
orange blossoms in summer time.
And when we are far apart
and my heart
feels a winter chill
I've got to lay down and cry.
But I know, by and by,
that I'll remember it:
the sweet perfume of
orange blossoms in summer time.
