Arianne´s an April morning
That comes rippling through my window
She´s the smell of coffee brewing
On a quiet rainy Sunday
And the purring of a kitten
That has made my neck
A pillow for it´s head

Arianne´s the silly music
That my father used to whistle
She´s the new leaf on the fern
That I had given up last winter
And what writer´s have to feel like
When they suddenly discover
They´ve been read

Arianne is mama´s crystal
Bread that´s nearly finished baking
And the rainbow in a puddle
And the happiest of birthdays
Then the going off on Friday
And the coming back on Monday
With a tan

Arianne is made of feelings
So I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing
And I taste her where she loves me
And I´m filled to over flowing
But there´s always room for more of Arianne

Arianne is mama´s crystal
Bread that´s nearly finished baking
And the rainbow in a puddle
And the happiest of birthdays
Then the going off on Friday
And the coming back on Monday
With a tan

Arianne is made of feelings
So I milk her of her kisses
And I swallow up her breathing
And I taste her where she loves me
And I´m filled to over flowing
But there´s always room for more of Arianne