With apologies to Jenny Joseph
Now I am old, I can wear pink trousers and socks of luminous green
and shapeless, flowing ponchos of red or aquamarine.
When I am hungry, I can eat chip butties or marzipan candied pears,
or real iced cream and candy floss from sellers on the square.
If I do, sometimes, top up my wine, let nobody protest.
When eyes are heavy, lids can safely droop. . . and meet. . . and rest.
I let the dogs sleep on the bed, together in my nest.
The weeds in my garden grow until they blossom into flowers.
I've given away the treadmill now. I sit and read for hours
unless I’m solving puzzles, spending longer than I plan.
Or, lately, spinning tales and crafting rhymes, because I can.
I rearrange the syllables and listen to them play.
I move around the different sounds and while away my day
with puzzles made of words. (What’s wrong with purple, anyway?)
How do you plan to grow old?
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Writing Wrinkles, and Random Ramblings 
I love purple. I love this post, it is so now, for me.
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Glad you liked it. I loved Jenny Joseph’s poem when I first read it but couldn’t understand why we shouldn’t wear purple anyway. It features often in my wardrobe (along with aquamarine)
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seems like w wonderful way to spend your older years…
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Shame about the gardening though… I never was green-fingered
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nor am I, althoughI have to admit I’ve never really given it a try…
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Growing old doesn’t need to involve growing up.
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too true!
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