Many years ago I saw this poem pinned to a red hat in an antique store. I found it! Thank you google.
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 sandals, 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.
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sun rise.
I love how the light creeps down into this canyon at dawn. Church bells for Lauds ringing as I finished.
I wonder if other children have to eat breakfast in the dark to fully appreciate the sun rising outside? Mine of course have known no other way, but now that summer is near, they usually miss the sunrise. As the days grow longer, there is even enough light to sneak in a painting before breakfast. This is my view from my kitchen sink.
Climbing Trees: A Poem
By Joe Suzz
Mom seeking quiet
Hurried me outside:
Forgetting my shoes by the front closet,
Leaving my socks on the back porch
Through the screen door, then,
Running to the canopying maples
Just past the clustered pines,
Mom had things to do, but she gravitated towards
The double paned glass.
Star burning energy, glimpses of sensation:
Climbing high enough to see Robin’s nest,
It’s fluttering wings, perched on the twisted twigs,
Feeding its young.
I perched myself a time or two. Watching my dog, Nicky, chasing squirrels
Along the fence. Sometimes, seeing my mom through the branches.
In the crossing of brief moments,
Beautifully colorful. Almost gaudy. It is a fine line, my 6 year old walks it all the time.