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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 sandles, 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
flowers in other people's gardens And learn to spit.
You
can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds
of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And
hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But
now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and
not swear in the street And set a good example for the
children. We must have friends to dinner and read the
papers.
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.
Jenny
Joseph
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