I'd sign a gracious autograph -
So individual, too! -
And talk at teas and take a plane,
And grant an interview.
I'd wear a tailored suit of black,
And heads would turn to look,
And whispers say, "There goes, my dear,
The one who wrote the book!"
But now my dreams are simpler far -
I want a little place
Where I can plant a tiny plot
Of maidenhair like lace.
And watch the stars come one by one,
And sing a twilight song,
And know you will be close to me
My whole life long.