She is dreaming
she is thinking
She la la la laaa remembers it all
Little old lady with face as grey, as a day in the life that was sweeter by far
with horses and coaches and crinolined ladies and
gentlemen walking and never a care
the holly of Christmas
the apples of summer
green leaves of springtime, the gold of the fall
and the bite of the frost on the first day of winter
the sound of the wind in the elm trees so tall
She is dreaming
she is thinking
She la la la laaa remembers it all
She sits by the hearth, and the face in the fire is
lined with creases of memory years the
cloth on the table is milk white and worn where the
teacups of ages left glitter brown tears
her long ago mother wore bible-black skirts and
lace as white, as the snow in the sky the
smell of the schoolroom and taste of the ink
shouting aloud at a chance passer-by
the searching for flowers games in the meadow
first touch of hands and an answering smile
she watches the sun spill a paint box of colours
sink in the west and it seems for a while
She is dreaming
she is thinking
She la la la laaa remembers it all

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