Mamma was the Diva

3 4 0
                                    

For better or worse, she's the voice in my head

The reason for half the tears that's ever been shed

In the big white mansion, up on the hill

And old lady now, she rules it still

Sit up straight; a lady is always quiet, polite

Dare to ignore you're the one who'd be contrite

Loved my old Gibson no matter to her

If it isn't opera you would cause a stir

Momma was the Dive as French as could be

Past the Pernod and croissants none could see

Bordeaux and banquette, none of us could pronounce

Wi Madame's all we answered and then we would run

Through the fields and the flowers so far away

Yet in my memory, my Momma would stay

Wear a dress, it's a Sunday Momma would say

Don't you dear peak while Papa would pray

No jeans or that Stetson, my daughter don't wear

So, the dress got all dirty with a big ugly tear

Yet, in wonder I listened when she played the violin

And softly she hummed as the mockingbird sang

Sometimes I do wonder, does she hear my songs now

Singing blues or country still with furrowed brow

Momma was the Dive as French as could be

Past the Pernod & croissants none could see

Bordeaux and banquette, none of us could pronounce

Wi Madame's all we answered and then we would run

Through the fields and the flowers so far away

Yet in my memory, my Momma would stay

Momma hear the violins even in country songs

If you listen up closely, they whisper your name...

Dandelions In The WindWhere stories live. Discover now