The morning sun touched lightly on <br />The eyes of Lucy Jordan <br />In her white suburban bedroom <br />In a white suburban town, <br />As she lay there 'neath the covers, <br />Dreaming of a thousand lovers, <br />Till the world turned to orange <br />And the room went spinning 'round. <br /> <br />At the age of 37 <br />She realized she'd never ride <br />Through Paris in a sports car <br />With the warm wind in her hair. <br />So she let the phone keep ringing <br />As she sat there, softly singing <br />Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized <br />In her daddy's easy chair. <br /> <br />Her husband is off to work, <br />And the kids are off to school, <br />And there were, oh, so many ways <br />For her to spend the day: <br />She could clean the house for hours <br />Or rearrange the flowers <br />Or run naked through the shady streets, <br />Screaming all the way! <br /> <br />At the age of 37 <br />She realized she'd never ride <br />Through Paris in a sports car <br />With the warm wind in her hair. <br />So she let the phone keep ringing <br />As she sat there, softly singing <br />Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized <br />In her daddy's easy chair. <br /> <br />The evening sun touched gently on <br />The eyes of Lucy Jordan <br />On the roof top, where she climbed <br />When all the laughter grew too loud. <br />And she bowed and curtsied to the man <br />Who reached and offered her his hand, <br />And he led her down to the long white car <br />That waited past the crowd. <br /> <br />At the age of 37 <br />She knew she'd found forever, <br />As she rolled along through Paris <br />With the warm wind in her hair.<br /><br />Sheldon Allan Silverstein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ballad-of-lucy-jordan/
