| Trina wears her wampum beads
|
| She fills her drawing book with line
|
| Sewing lace on widow’s weeds
|
| And filagree on leaf and vine
|
| Vine and leaf are filagree
|
| And her coat’s a second-hand one
|
| Sewn in antique luxury
|
| She is a lady of the canyon
|
| Annie sits you down to eat
|
| She always makes you welcome in
|
| Cats and babies around her feet
|
| And all are fat and none are thin
|
| None are thin and all are fat
|
| She may bake some brownies today
|
| Saying you are welcome back
|
| She is another canyon lady
|
| Esterella, circus girl
|
| Comes wrapped in songs and gypsy shawls
|
| Songs like tiny hammers hurled
|
| At bevelled mirrors in empty halls
|
| Empty halls and bevelled mirrors
|
| Sailing seas and climbing banyans
|
| Come out for a visit here
|
| To be a lady of the canyon
|
| Trina takes her paints and thread
|
| And weaves a pattern all her own
|
| Annie bakes her cakes and bread
|
| And gathers flowers for her home
|
| For her home, she gathers flowers
|
| And Esterella, dear companion
|
| Colours up the sunshine hours
|
| Pouring music down the canyon
|
| Colouring the sunshine hours
|
| They are the ladies of the canyon |