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?)
..
..
I love purple. I love this post, it is so now, for me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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)
LikeLiked by 1 person
seems like w wonderful way to spend your older years…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Shame about the gardening though… I never was green-fingered
LikeLiked by 1 person
nor am I, althoughI have to admit I’ve never really given it a try…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Growing old doesn’t need to involve growing up.
LikeLiked by 1 person
too true!
LikeLiked by 1 person