She was young once.
Famous for her golden hair
And seven little black dresses
She liked to wear.
Dancing all night long.
Those years are long gone.
The rush of youth. And seven little black dresses
She liked to wear.
Dancing all night long.
Those years are long gone.
As a young woman
sailed past her,
A rapturous breeze lightly touched the older one.
A rapturous breeze lightly touched the older one.
Then as the young one was quite out of sight
A truck appeared.
A truck appeared.
The front-seat
passenger leaned out the cabin
And he shouted: “My god, are you beautiful!”,
And he shouted: “My god, are you beautiful!”,
In the
reflecting mirror she saw his smile.
A face so full of a lived life.
A face so full of a lived life.
© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved.