The women tied their hopes on to that tree
with ribbons, sprigs of thyme and faded words
they taught themselves what happiness should be.
with ribbons, sprigs of thyme and faded words
they taught themselves what happiness should be.
Along the path, discerning eyes could see
their trail of trinkets, left out for the birds.
The women tied their hopes on to that tree.
their trail of trinkets, left out for the birds.
The women tied their hopes on to that tree.
The bark was peeling, trunk split into three
but they had climbed it, driven, undeterred
and taught themselves what happiness should be.
but they had climbed it, driven, undeterred
and taught themselves what happiness should be.
Each scrap of page or cotton was a plea,
a secret way to make their voices heard.
The women tied their hopes on to that tree.
a secret way to make their voices heard.
The women tied their hopes on to that tree.
Each left and headed homeward quietly,
their offerings left hanging, sad, absurd.
They taught themselves what happiness should be.
their offerings left hanging, sad, absurd.
They taught themselves what happiness should be.
When we got there you turned and looked at me,
we stood, prickling with tears, our vision blurred.
They taught themselves what happiness should be,
those women tied their hopes on to that tree.
we stood, prickling with tears, our vision blurred.
They taught themselves what happiness should be,
those women tied their hopes on to that tree.
