"Kom in mijn wereld!", zei de vogel.

"Ik neem je mee!".

Gedreven door vertrouwen

spreidde ik mijn armen

en sprong ik overboord

als had ik nooit voorheen geleefd ...

Mijn gevederde vriend

vertelde over vroeger

en toonde me terloops

zijn ouderlijke boom

die nu erg stond te treuren ...

"Die drang", sprak hij

"Die verdomde drang!"

Ik beaamde ...

Ugly Sunday ...

gisteren was het zaterdag ...

maar vandaag ...

vandaag werp ik gouden dukaten en beloof ik niet te beklimmen bergen.

ik keten mezelf aan nietsdoen

en drink thee en rode wijn

en dood de leegte met gevulde koeken.

I walk the walk

I talk the talk

maar niets brengt soelaas.

en vluchten kan niet meer

want morgen ...

morgen gaat de zon over in maan

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

(By Jenny Joseph)