When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
By Jenny Joseph
3 comments:
My frined Jo is already doing all that, I'm gonna skim bread and throw stones at ducks!
I love this poem, mainly as it gives me an insight into exactly how my mum is going to behave...
Perhaps I'll now look at her differently, lovely and eccentric. It's all a matter of perspective, and your post makes me look forward to picking flowers from other people's gardens instead of dreading old age. Thanks Liz, I've been warned.
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