You could always pull it off Or pull it out of a box, And end up looking good in pink or purple, In fine or sheer or cotton or fuzzy blouses, In any old skirt with bells on or glitter attached Or with tattered fringe or small red bows Reminding me of Joni Mitchell In all her colorful costumes and paints, But you were better every way every day Because you kept me alive inside. I could speak to you even when you’re not there, You were always in my mind. I guess you still are, even now, Though decades and distance intervene And we are always only conversationalists now. And, like those old self-portraits of Joni on her covers, You carry your beauty with you everywhere without effort. I guess the real stuff shines right through us from inside, No matter how we’ve changed…
Even if it were not true, I would wish it so. I would not let it halt. |
No comments:
Post a Comment
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)