My kind and wise friend, writer Barbara
Lived a long and busy, exciting life
Tried every job, was twice a step-mother
Nursed the sick, three times a devoted wife
I was outspoken, outraged, indignant
On that memorable and shocking day
She confessed she'd found racy diaries
From her single days, shocked, thrown them away
To me they were stories of an era
Lessons which we all could have learned
The past should not be lost nor forgotten
Not lost or wasted, inheritance earned
But she didn't want her dear grand-daughter
So pure, innocent, trusting, round-eyes, sweet
To see the sordid past of her granny
Who the world's readers would now never meet
Yet now I'm frail, body and mind, eighty
I've reached the same grand age, and thought the same
I've thrown away 'fiction', porn I'd written
Censored each doubtful page, to save my name
I've thown away lacy pants and torn clothes
Sold the high heels, put sex toys in the bin
To seem a darling, sweet, soft old lady
Not one who lived a life of frantic sin
So there's one thing I must warn you, dear friends
When you tut at what silly old folk do
That when you've seen their events. reached their age
You'll find the old's new thoughts are just you
When you hide your youthful life from the old
When through the world you go and gently grow
You want to help youngsters avoid mistakes
So what kids do unseen, the parents know
But what the oldies did no-one suspects
New young don't understand life's rules and game
Until you've played each sport and tune and card
And know hurdles and people stay the same.
Most kids are good, obey, sometimes rebel
Yet, too late, their parents are good teachers
Most grannies nod, smile, listen, kind and wise
Some old men, reformed, are shouting preachers.
-ends-
My first draft is easy to say, conversational rhythm, but banal. My revision loses its predictable rhythm and everyday phrases, becomes alliterative, twists, surprises, the rhythm is lost, more literary, less everyday cliche, more insightful, more prose than poetry, more technical and scientific and surprising than a nursery rhyme.
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