It Comes With Age ‘I’ve found,’ said Mrs
Merrydew
As she placed things on the shelf, ‘The things my mother used to do, I do them now myself, Her knack of planning for the worse And buying cut price goods Is something I no longer curse, Or the searching in the woods For fungi that we all could eat, A harvest for our tea, Are things you simply cannot beat When you are seventy. Her mending skirts, undoing pleats, Gave things a certain style And using up the worn out sheets Made money last a while, And though I’ll still buy luxuries I’ll also make my own And really very much you see I’ve probably trimmed and sewn. And Mother’s other habit Of putting things away ‘If you don’t, then you can’t have it’ Is something she would say, And yet it all annoyed me so Those things my mother said, And how she’d always have a go At the time I went to bed But now I know I’m getting old, - My mother said that too – And all the things she did, I’m told, Are now the things I do! |