Pussy willow

In the half-tone light of a young morning she sighs and shifts on the pillow. And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly to kiss the Pussy Willow. In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing in a sad voice nobody hears. She waits in her castle of make-believing for her white knight to appear. Pusy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs for the train --- see, eight o'clock's coming cutting dreams down to size again. Pussy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming cutting dreams down to size again. She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing an apartment in old Mayfair. Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring or to die for a cause somewhere. Pussy Willow --- down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming cutting dreams down to size again.