When I was young and all the world my stage,
I dreamed that one day my name would be known.
Perhaps a famous actor on Broadway,
with rave reviews, I'd make that world my own.
With curtain calls and flowers at the end,
and shouts of "Encore!" for tunes sung so well.
My autograph, I'd gladly sign for all,
a rising star on Broadway, you could tell.
Or maybe it's the movies where I'd shine,
an actor I would be, of great renown.
I'm sure I'd win an Oscar by and by,
pursued by paparazzi all around.
The restaurant where I dine will name a dish...
after me, a new one they'd create.
The patrons, once they taste it, will want more.
Their special "ME" dish cravings won't abate.
Perhaps a famous author's who I'd be,
I'd write detective novels, poetry.
The publisher's will rave how my books sell,
my family would be very proud of me.
Then when I'm walking through the neighborhood,
where I grew up, the people that I'd meet,
will stop and stare and say, "Isn't it you,
who wrote those books about detective Fleet?"
When I was young and all the world my stage,
I dreamed that one day my name would be known.
And yes, it certainly has come to pass,
I'm known as Mom, to my sweet kids at home.
Fame and fortune has eluded me,
but I am happy in the bright sunshine.
A gentle breeze blows and I reminisce,
I'm famous once again, just in my mind.
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