[Intro] Late winters chase us through the fields, rain no yield Whispers of a dormant love. No deal [Stanza 1] She had the mind of a poet and the hands of a dancer, her pen pranced from the page she didn't take no for an answer. A stubborn quid-pro-quo, nothing for nothing [Stanza 2] Shaking hands with shocked faces, making up for lost places, I...Learn More