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My mother had a box of perfumes that she wore, each one had a different thing it was for
The best days were the ones when she chose the yellow bottle that smelled like rose
When she wore it she was always beaming, with good times and joy she was teeming
If she smelt of violets then you knew, that day she was feeling quite terribly blue 

She'd wear something vanilla if rushed, makeup not done and hair still unbrushed
When feeling particularly young, on her skin the smell of cotton candy sung 
She'd smell of baby powder when she was feeling older, her face a dangerous smolder
She was going to get things done if she smelled like fresh pine and sun

The day or the mood you could always tell just from the way my mother smelled

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