Rosemary Jane is the first out of bed.
Every morning the same, but there’s mouths to be fed
With the money she gets from a man who is dead to himself,
And dead to everyone else.
My sisters and I were always too young
To remember the line about holding your tongue
While the grown folks are talking, but the silence began
Long ago for Rosemary Jane.
Sweet Rosemary Jane.

It’s Mothering Sunday, and the headlines should say
We haven’t forgotten, the remarkable way
That you took all that pain on your shoulders, and put it away:
Rosemary Jane.

When I think of the things you had to endure...
We were young, we were careless, headstrong and unsure.
You guided us gently to the right path, whether loved or ignored,
Rosemary Jane.
I know I gave you a grey hair every time I messed up,
Each one a silver reminder that my mistakes add up.
Through every one of my unforced errors, every slip,
You never gave up,
Sweet Rosemary Jane.

Unsure of the path in No Man’s Land;
Unsure of myself in No Man’s Land;
Never quite alone in No Man’s Land.

It’s Mothering Sunday, and the headlines should say
That we'll never forget it, the remarkable way
That you took all that pain on your shoulders, and put it away:
Sweet Rosemary Jane.