Sunday, August 21, 2011

Better Late Than Never!

asks us to remember birthdays


No! That isn't me! Though I'm about that age!
(Both of us preparing to saunter off life's stage!)
It's a birthday celebration designed for the very old,
A loving scene but rather muted, if the truth were told.
I never had a party when I was a little child;
Britain was deep in World War Two, with everything defiled.
And I never had a party when I was in my prime,
Though I do remember, vaguely, a card or two at the time.
But I remember my sixtieth! It was the day that I retired!
I'd worked as a teacher for forty years and departure was required.
I had three parties on the day and another one at night,
With sixty candles on cup-cakes making a brilliant light.
And I remember my seventieth! We actually hired a hall
And I invited seventy guests and we really had a ball.
All my theatrical friends were there, performing on the stage;
And I felt really grateful to have reached such an ancient age.
Then came my eightieth birthday with a family celebration,
And an evening spent in presenting a play, one of my own creation!
I felt younger during that evening than I'd felt twenty years before,
And now I look forward to ninety, wondering what's in store!
I had no childhood birthdays, but youth doesn't last for ever.
It's very clear it's an obvious case of
'Better Late Than Never!'


My life was supposed to be lived like this!
 But, alas, it has never been!
Everything in neat little  folders,
Blue and yellow and green.
When I imagined Motherhood,
In the clucky days of my youth,
I was going to be so perfect!
But I wasn't, and that's the truth.
I started domestic dreaming
When I was about sixteen,
And I didn't marry till thirty-six,
So, through all the years between
I dreamed of the perfect home I'd make
If I ever became a wife;
With precision and dedication
I'd organise my life.
Shots like the above inspired me!
My children would live just so,
With their lives in neat little boxes,
And their books in an orderly row.
Forty years later I look back
As old ladies often do,
And I realise, with humility,
That I've just muddled-through.
I still long for things to be labelled
In an 'In-Tray' and 'Out-Tray' scheme,
But I know a leopard can't change its spots,
And it's all an impossible dream.
Out there are Domestic Goddesses
Longing to cast the first stone.
But I'll welcome comments that tell me I am not alone!  

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You never fail to entertain me. Always telling such great stories in your poetry. I love that so much. This is beautiful...and humorous too! Thank you for sharing this week!