| Ordinary mothers lead ordinary lives—
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| Keep the house and sweep the parlor,
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| Mend the clothes and tend the children.
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| Ordinary mothers, like ordinary wives,
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| Make the beds and bake the pies
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| And wither on the vine…
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| Not mine.
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| Dying by inches every night—
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| What a glamorous life!
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| Pulled on by winches to recite—
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| What a glamorous life!
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| Ordinary mothers never get the flowers,
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| And ordinary mothers never know the joys,
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| But ordinary mothers couldn’t cough for hours,
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| Maintaining their poise.
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| Sandwiches only,
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| But she eats what she wants when she wants!
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| Sometimes it’s lonely,
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| But she meets many handsome gallants!
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| Ordinary mothers don’t live out of cases,
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| But ordinary mothers don’t go different places—
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| Which ordinary mothers can’t do, being mothers all day!
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| Mine’s away in a play—
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| And she’s realer than they…
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| What if her brooch is only glass,
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| And her costumes unravel?
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| What if her coach is second-class:
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| She at least gets to travel!
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| And sometime this summer—meaning soon,
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| She’ll be traveling to me!
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| Sometime this summer—maybe June, I’m the new place she’ll see!
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| Ordinary daughters may think life is better
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| With ordinary mothers near them when they choose—
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| But ordinary daughters seldom get a letter
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| Enclosing reviews!
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| Gay and resilient, with applause—
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| What a glamorous life!
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| Speeches are brilliant, if they’re Shaw’s—
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| What a glamorous life!
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| Ordinary mothers needn’t meet committees,
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| But ordinary mothers don’t get keys to cities—
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| No, ordinary mothers merely see their children all year,
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| Which is nothing, I hear…
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| But it does interfere
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| With the glamorous—
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| I am the princess, guarded by dragons
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| Snorting and grumbling and rumbling in wagons…
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| She’s in her kingdom, wearing disguises, leading a life that is full of
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| surprises…
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| And sometime this summer, she’ll come galloping
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| Over the green! |
| Sometime this summer, to the rescue,
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| My mother the queen!
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| Ordinary mothers thrive on being private,
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| But ordinary mothers somehow can survive it,
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| And ordinary mothers never know they’re just standing still—
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| With their kettles to fill—
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| While they’re missing the thrill
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| Of the glamorous life! |