I am a woman of words not music,
But he rode a Harley and dressed in black leather.
His dark hair was soft on his shoulders;
He played in a band.
I would see him across the campus
And wonder where he could take me
Both on and off that big black Harley.
He asked me to come and hear him play.
With a small laugh I declined.
I explained myself thus:
"I am a woman of words not music."
He said that this could not be so.
He said that my laugh was music.
He said that my voice was a song.
I said, " I am a woman of words not music."
For a woman of words listens,
And she considers what she hears.
When he said "All three of my wives were nurses."
I knew that fantasy was music enough for me.