The Older Lass


The older lass,
The years have passed,
Looks crinkled in the looking glass,
Her hair was fair,
Now bald and bare,
Frame lodged in the easy chair,

By hook or crook,
She’d run amok,
But medication must be took,
And all at once, idyllic bliss,
Are younger people’s whim and wish,
It’s not for her,

The sunlit verge,
Or swift and swallows’,
Swoop and serge,
But television’s dreadful dirge,
To keep her peace,
And keep her calm,
Boredom can’t do any harm,
Intelligence of course has fled,
And left a may as well be empty bed,
For all the sleeper’s life is led,
As far as we’re concerned,

It’s stamped out,
Every glint and glimmer,
With mashed potatoes for her dinner,
And eyebrows’ former knowing arch,
Is frozen with the tatties starch,

And in the corner of the eye,
Where younger lass would smile and cry,
The tiny, salty, soul filled chink,
Shielded by a frequent blink,
‘I wish I could eat chocolate spread,
‘Walk in the ocean to my head,
‘A thunder bolt would strike me dead,
‘Scream aloud and not be mad,
‘I miss my Mum, I miss my Dad!’

But three O’clock,
The timely chime,
Is older lass’ napping time.

Gwen

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About Gwen and Elinor

Two bloging buddies who love tea and biscuits.
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