As the late great play-write Ernie Wise might have said, here is a poem what I wrote. It was meant to cheer up a friend who had reached her 50th birthday several years ago but instead made us both rather glum about choices we wish we had made way back when.
Anyway, I seem to be engrossed in coloured pencils and art at the moment rather than the written word so I thought I might share this little ditty and make it my blog for this month.
The Inner Trollop
I’m 50 years old but my clock is still ticking, have I left it too late to do my own picking?
In my youth I stayed pure, only did what I ought to;
I went out of my way to be a good daughter.
But now that I’m old and my body’s gone south I feel overlooked; rather down in the mouth.
How unfair it all seems, this late burst of desire for handsome young men with eyes full of fire.
Their gorgeous young faces, their legs long and lanky, and their perfect firm buttocks – two eggs in a hanky!
Why did I shun nookie just to stay in good graces? How could I have put my libido in stasis?
I turned away offers and hundreds of kisses, deciding instead to be somebody’s missus
Yet I wound up alone somewhat wiser but sadder regretting each day that I should have been badder.
I’m told an old fiddle will play the best tune, how I long to be fiddled – Oh God, make it soon!
I’m not asking for romance or love ever-lasting just the thrill of two ships in the night as they’re passing
I demand one last fling, one last crash, bang and wallop, to release at long last my repressed inner trollop!