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!

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