well,
in the first place this ain't a ballad (as all the poets would squirm at and vouch for) and
secondly, this ain't the blues either.. so all that's relevant here is 'of the'...
Promises and hope in the glory of the morning sun’s rays
We’d be together in all of our different ways
And I took her for granted and wanted her to do the same
But no, things are now beyond my claim
I trusted and saw in her a white dove that always flew yonder
If nature’s rage blew we’d be together, lightning or thunder
Said she we’d be together when we were five more than thirty
And said she would take me in her arms if I were dead or dirty
Time is a deceiver; he heals all wounds and bad memories
but also wrecks the ships that go out to placid seas
was I wrong in taking too much for granted
or was I wrong in giving more than what you wanted
can I have an hour of our old times back
though we lived a 1000 miles away from each other
the silence between us is not one of comfort
but of the ghostly airs that try to heal my hurt
and I still some nights, stand by the sitting-place fire
reliving all our memories and days in the sun
when I didn’t have to hold your hand or say a word
when the music was played by our band, and my silence was heard
said the poet, time is a great leveler like death, only so,
death comes once while time kills a man many times and slow
I’ll wait for you by the fireplace, with your silken cloth in hand
And trust you to come back to me, while our music is played by the band
