In the Twilight - Judy Collins

She’s a lady,

and she barely knows her name now

In the twilight as she sleeps

And her memories chase her down the days of childhood

There was music, always music

And her brothers — there was Robert,

the captain of a freighter that sailed to China

There was Shannon, who ran off one icy morning

And then Herbert and then Frank, all so handsome

And her sisters, who were beautiful

and yearned to be together.

She’s a lady,

and she’s sleeping like a princess

who will wake up and drink amber

from a slipper made of diamonds

She was married to a blind man who was my father,

such a charmer, and another whose name was Robert

Who holds her fragile hand while I am weeping

Chardonnay in a crystal glass,

amethysts on her fingers

Roses and forget-me-nots

in the garden where she lingered

All around her the snowy peaks

drew her eyes with wonder

All of her betrayals drowned

in the roaring canyon’s thunder

She’s a lady,

and she always dressed in silk and had her hair done

and her clothes were pretty colors

and the scent of Chanel in her satin cloak

when she went dancing with my father

when they were very young

She’s a lady,

and saw nearly twenty presidents and she voted for Obama

In the old days,

sipping Presbyterians, she’d argue with her children

who had opinions about everything that mattered

And she’d tell of the time she saw Rachmaninoff.

Chardonnay in a crystal glass, amethysts in her

necklace Roses and forget-me-nots

and three sons so fine and reckless

Daughters too, who were free like her

One who sang and one who painted

She loved them all ever more and more

And thought all of us should be sainted

She’s a lady,

and she barely knows my name now

In the twilight, and she sleeps most of the day

and when she wakes up she says that she’s going home

And asks me how I knew where to find her

In this home that’s not her home

She sees her garden,

Growing wild since she had to leave the sweetness

of those afternoons on her patio

Where Robert kept the flowers blooming.

She’s a lady,

and she’s going home she tells me

in the twilight as her eyes close

I ask her where,

and she says that it’s a secret

Then she’s gone just like the flowers in her garden.

Chardonnay in a crystal glass, amethysts on her fingers

Roses and forget-me-nots in the garden

where she lingered

All around her the snowy peaks

drew her eyes with wonder

All of her betrayals drowned

in the roaring canyon’s thunder

Marjorie, my mother, sweet Marjorie of the garden

That blooms now in my heart