In the half-tone light of a young morning

She signs and shifls on the pillow

And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly

To kiss the Pussy Willow.



In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing

In a sad voice nobody hears.

She waits in her castle of make-believing

For her white Knight to appear.



Pussy Willow - down far-lined avenue

Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes

Runs for the train - see, eight o'clock's coming

Cutting dreams down to size again.



She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing

An apartment in old Mayfair

Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring

Or to die for a cause somewhere.



Pussy Willow - down fur-lined avenue

Brushing the sleep for her young woman eyes

Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming

Cutting dreams down to size again