in the evening when the kettle s on for tea an old familiar feeling settles over me and it s your face i see and i believe that you are there in a garden when i stop to touch a rose and feel the petals soft and sweet against my nose i smile and i suppose that somehow maybe you are there when i m dreaming and i find myself awake without a warning and i rub my eyes and fantasize and all at once i realize it s morning and my fantasy is fading like a distant star at dawn my dearest dream is gone i often think there s just one thing to do pretend the dream is true and tell myself that you are there