By Gayle Gardner Lin

When we were young and so in love,
we held each other fast.
You promised you'd do anything
to make this feeling last.
I looked into your loving eyes
and said in words so plain,
"Just waltz with me in the kitchen
and walk with me in the rain."

The babies came, the years brought us
the stress of daily life.
We stayed together hand-in-hand,
and weathered every strife.
But when, I wondered as we watched
the years slip down the drain,
will you waltz with me in the kitchen
and walk with me in the rain?

The children soon were grown and gone.
We held each other tight.
We laughed; we loved; we cried; we knew
that life had been all right.
But now you've gone before your time
and I live with the pain.
We'd never waltzed in the kitchen;
we'd never walked in the rain.

From the deep shadows of my dreams
you came to me last night
to offer me one final gift
before your soul took flight.
You said you couldn't travel on
up to a higher plane

    till

you'd waltzed with me in the kitchen
and walked with me in the rain.

You waltzed with me in the kitchen.
You walked with me in the rain.

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