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 its 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 writers 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 feeling   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, overflowing   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      And the going off on Friday   And the coming back on Monday with a tan      Arianne is made of feeling   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, overflowing   But there's always room for more of Arianne