She's A Dancer

She's a dancer in the garden. And she dances with the flowers. In the early morning hours. When the wind shifts, And the fog drifts, She's a dancer. She's a dancer and she knows it. Everywhere she goes she shows it. Condescending, not pretending. No regretting, Nor forgetting, She's a dancer. And on my early morning walks I often find her. I sit pretending that I'm looking at the paper. And when people stop to watch her. She pretends she doesn't see them. Doesn't need them, and where she goes, There the wind blows. Though it's only, With the flowers, That she dances. (Refrão)