I Love a Young Dancer Named Wilma

There is a young woman I met near Times Square; She's five-foot-eleven with lovely brown hair. We were both buying tickets at the kiosk that's there For a show at the Palace that starred Richard Gere. So she told me she dances, but that landing a gig There on Broadway's not easy; Competition is big. And she moves through the crowds with a natural grace; Watching her's such a pleasure that I must hide my face. But her style, you know, can scarcely compare To those twinkle-ing eyes, and what they hold there. It's to bask in her presence that's the purest of joy; And I feel like nothing but a lost little boy. But my feelings for her are not puppy love Though she seems like an angel sent from above. But, alas, I'm a pauper, who can't pay the rent And she merits a man who's much more like a gent. So I'll have to be happy with watching her dance; As a husband with family I haven't a chance. If I only foresaw that I'd meet her one day My own life would have gone a much different way.