When I grow old (or am I already there?)

I think this poem, which I partially pinched from my friends blog, sums up an emerging rebel in me. Scary? The really scary thing is that I already love wearing purple and have a purple bedroom (yes walls and all!!)


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 underwear (that bit is my friends adaption), 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 (not that I was LOL).
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain (I do that often already)
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens . . . (been known to swipe cuttings in my time)

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.

poem by Jenny Joseph

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