Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
How do you tell if she’s a lady, When she’s turning eighty five? She doesn’t wear much jewelry No furs or fancy styles. She doesn’t play croquet, But likes to root instead through dirt. Her uniform’s a crumpled hat, Old shoes and a muddy shirt. You can find her on any sunny day, Outside in all weather, Stacking stone and hauling hay. Collecting white stones & robin feathers. But don’t dare swear or she’ll object! Don’t watch **** TV or She’ll tell you what to do instead: “Rake some leaves or sweep this floor!” She might strike you as old Rose Sayer, Prim, proper and cold. And to God each night she’ll say a prayer, “Jesus please, don’t let me get old!” Dedicated to Mom, Who Believes in Living Forever
0
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
A Lady at Eighty-Five
How do you tell if she’s a lady, When she’s turning eighty five? She doesn’t wear much jewelry No furs or fancy styles. She doesn’t play croquet, But likes to root instead through dirt. Her uniform’s a crumpled hat, Old shoes and a muddy shirt. You can find her on any sunny day, Outside in all weather, Stacking stone and hauling hay. Collecting white stones & robin feathers. But don’t dare swear or she’ll object! Don’t watch **** TV or She’ll tell you what to do instead: “Rake some leaves or sweep this floor!” She might strike you as old Rose Sayer, Prim, proper and cold. And to God each night she’ll say a prayer, “Jesus please, don’t let me get old!” Dedicated to Mom, Who Believes in Living Forever
Mom is 91 now and bed-ridden, sadly, but she had, as they say, a good innings, using most of it up on yard work which made her feel good (for some odd reason)...
sharon-talbot
Written by
Massachusetts, USA
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem