Swallows build nests in the eves of houses,
Carefully placing their twigs and their leaves.
Do you know why they choose build there?
It's to listen to the stories that mother weaves.
Wendy sits on the bed of little Jane
And begins to talk of a far-off land.
It's Jane's favorite story and her eyes start to glow
As she listens to the tale of Peter Pan.
Jane snuggles close to Wendy, begging her for more,
She asks softly, "Mother, did you really fly?"
Wendy's mem'ry is old and dim.
"Sometimes I think not," is the slow reply.
"Of course you did," little Jane declares.
"And it was a dark night, just like this!"
Wendy remembers and tells her so,
Tucks her in and gives her rosy cheek a kiss.
Sitting in the firelight, sewing socks and clothes,
Wendy muses and wonders how she could be grown.
But her reverie was not continued quietly,
For the large window open by wind was blown.
Like a breath of fresh air, cool, sweetly scented,
A boy flies in and lands on the floor.
"Hello Wendy," he says, "it's time to go!"
Wendy gasps; she's seen this boy before.
His cheeks are colored with sun and health,
His eyes are fountains of blue, sparkling.
Soft, golden curls frame his happy face,
Barely can one see him in the night's darkening.
"Have you forgotten that it's spring?"
Asks he, while resting from his flight.
He notices nothing changed in Wendy
Until she stands and turns up light.
"I'm a woman now, Peter," trembles the mother,
"That girl lying there in the bed is my child."
"No, you aren't and she is not!" Peter cries, afraid.
His knife he swiftly draws, his eyes are wild.
Of course he does not strike, but sits and weeps.
Wendy sobs and rushes out of the door,
She doesn't know how to comfort him now.
And Peter is left to cry on the floor.
His cries wake the little girl in the bed.
"Boy, why are you crying?" asks Wendy's Jane.
Peter Pan dries his eyes and bows to her.
Jane bows back beautifully, and he bows again.
"I'm Peter Pan," he confides to the girl.
Jane feels a thrill through her, head to toe.
He is just as mother said he would be.
With a small shiver Jane whispers, "I know."
When Wendy comes back, her heart stands still.
Jane is flying, her face is full of glee.
"Can I go? He does so need a mother."
Wendy sighs, "No one knows that more than me."
So Jane goes with Peter, just for the spring.
And her mother worries while she is away.
When Jane grows up, her daughter will leave
As long as she is heartless, innocent, and gay.
Carefully placing their twigs and their leaves.
Do you know why they choose build there?
It's to listen to the stories that mother weaves.
Wendy sits on the bed of little Jane
And begins to talk of a far-off land.
It's Jane's favorite story and her eyes start to glow
As she listens to the tale of Peter Pan.
Jane snuggles close to Wendy, begging her for more,
She asks softly, "Mother, did you really fly?"
Wendy's mem'ry is old and dim.
"Sometimes I think not," is the slow reply.
"Of course you did," little Jane declares.
"And it was a dark night, just like this!"
Wendy remembers and tells her so,
Tucks her in and gives her rosy cheek a kiss.
Sitting in the firelight, sewing socks and clothes,
Wendy muses and wonders how she could be grown.
But her reverie was not continued quietly,
For the large window open by wind was blown.
Like a breath of fresh air, cool, sweetly scented,
A boy flies in and lands on the floor.
"Hello Wendy," he says, "it's time to go!"
Wendy gasps; she's seen this boy before.
His cheeks are colored with sun and health,
His eyes are fountains of blue, sparkling.
Soft, golden curls frame his happy face,
Barely can one see him in the night's darkening.
"Have you forgotten that it's spring?"
Asks he, while resting from his flight.
He notices nothing changed in Wendy
Until she stands and turns up light.
"I'm a woman now, Peter," trembles the mother,
"That girl lying there in the bed is my child."
"No, you aren't and she is not!" Peter cries, afraid.
His knife he swiftly draws, his eyes are wild.
Of course he does not strike, but sits and weeps.
Wendy sobs and rushes out of the door,
She doesn't know how to comfort him now.
And Peter is left to cry on the floor.
His cries wake the little girl in the bed.
"Boy, why are you crying?" asks Wendy's Jane.
Peter Pan dries his eyes and bows to her.
Jane bows back beautifully, and he bows again.
"I'm Peter Pan," he confides to the girl.
Jane feels a thrill through her, head to toe.
He is just as mother said he would be.
With a small shiver Jane whispers, "I know."
When Wendy comes back, her heart stands still.
Jane is flying, her face is full of glee.
"Can I go? He does so need a mother."
Wendy sighs, "No one knows that more than me."
So Jane goes with Peter, just for the spring.
And her mother worries while she is away.
When Jane grows up, her daughter will leave
As long as she is heartless, innocent, and gay.