When I'm old, by Izzy Ullmann

When I'm old, and not grey, nor full of sleep

I'll be dyeing my hair and watching films late at night,

And getting up mid morning, like a teenager.

I shall refuse to wear big knickers from M and S, and shudder at slip-on shoes,

And make a Yule Log instead of Christmas pudding.

I shall enjoy my bus pass, and get off at places I've never been before,

And sit alone in the pub, drinking a pint.

I'll play pianos in public train stations, with arthritic hands,

And read all of À la recherche du temps perdu.

My corpus, although ranting with pills,

Will delight in long, deep baths , if I can get in them.

I will frown at huddles of old folks

Enthusiastically expatiating about their maladies.

My dreams will be in the beech woods,

Picking mushrooms, or riding my bike,

Or walking the flint-sharp paths, listening to the blackbird's minims from Chiltern paths.