Joanne

By Michael Nesmith

Her name was Joanne and she lived in a meadow by a pond.
And she touched me for a moment, 
With a look that spoke to me of her sweet love.
Then the woman that she was drove her on with desperation.
And I saw as she went a most hopeless situation,
For Joanne and the man and the time that made them both run.

She was only a girl.  I know that well but still I could not see,
That the hold that she had was much stronger than the love she felt for me.
While staying with her and my little bit of wisdom,
Broke down her desires like a light through a prism,
Into yellows and blues and a tune that I could not have sung.

Though the essence is gone, I have no tears to cry for her
And my only thoughts of her are kind.

Her name was Joanne and she lived in a meadow by a pond.
And she touched me for a moment, 
With a look that spoke to me of her sweet love.
Then the woman that she was drove her on with desperation.
And I saw as she went a most hopeless situation,
For Joanne and the man and the time that made them both run.

For Joanne and the man and the time that made them both run.