Lynn, Who’s Single
 
Lynn, who’s single, loves her life
No one’s mother, no one’s wife
Turned down offers, unregretted
Still delightfully unwedded
Never knits, never tats
Hasn’t any use for cats
She’s no prim recluse from Boston
Dressed in puce a la Jane Austen
Evening comes, Lynn’s time to play
Dines on blini and pâté 
House stays clean
Hips stay lean
Ah, the coupons that she clips
Ah, the European trips
Nothing here to snub your nose at
When she’s in the mood, she goes out
Or one call and there are men
If she wants them, then again
They go home when it is over
Don’t address her as "ma pauvre"
She has oodle-dees of cash
And a very handsome stash
Of good jewelry for the nieces
Furniture is not in pieces
Stove unused
Heart unbruised
Save your pity and your sorrow
When you lift your head tomorrow
All you mothers and you wives
Who may have feared of living lives
Like Lynn, who’s single.

Toby Devens


 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Toby Devens would be pleased to hear them.