| Mornin' glory, fuschia in green
|
| You sweet little Jezebel in my garden of dreams
|
| Petals clenched tightly in the late morning sun
|
| My day is just starting, Your day is done
|
| Apple-green butterfly lites upon you
|
| Once, then again, he calls
|
| Trying so hard to get through
|
| He dances and somersaults
|
| Then floats away blue
|
| His bold ambition has failed to sway you
|
| Mornin' glory, fuschia in green
|
| You sweet little Jezebel in my garden of dreams
|
| Petals clenched tightly in the late morning sun
|
| My day is just starting, Your day is done
|
| Vines wrap the south side-porch
|
| Up the lattice they climb
|
| The clothes nearly touch the ground
|
| On that saggin clothes line
|
| Paint’s peeled and screens are torn
|
| I got so much to do
|
| But I’ll steal one minute more
|
| Of this glory with you
|
| Mornin' glory, fuschia in green
|
| You sweet little Jezebel in my garden of dreams
|
| Petals clenched tightly in the late morning sun
|
| My day is just starting, Your day is done |