Old Women Are the Mistress of the Lust That Used To Master Us - That Boy

‘Old women, in the autumn of our lives may wear the smoke of fires in our hair be mothers, spinsters, prostitutes or wives and still have merry ribbons from the fair sewn on our skirts, and in our corsets laced and all around our hats, and stockings on We may be old, and not so sweetly graced by beauty now our summer days are gone but autumn still has leaves upon her dress and berries from her lips to spill, it’s just - (although we have our secrets to confess) Old women are the mistress of the lust That used to master us.’ ‘Oh aye, you try’ That boy - his eyes are bluer than the sky © Gail Foster 22nd September 2018