My Mother's Perfume

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