The Seven Ages of Woman
First, the babe in arms,
Dressed in clothes of pink;
Who feasts upon Farley’s Rusks;
Who loves warm milk to drink.
Then, the bright-eyed schoolgirl:
The latest toys, she likes;
Who so loves having sleepovers,
And riding upon her bike.
Then, the stroppy teen,
Who’s abandoned all her toys:
Now she’s into make-up,
And eyeing up the boys.
Then, the younger woman:
No longer considered a girl;
Who has to make decisions,
And face the big, bad world.
Then, the woman in her prime:
Perhaps a mother and wife?
Who’s gained much experience
And who’s seen a lot of life.
Then, the older woman,
Who’s recently retired;
Whose services at work
Are now no longer required.
Finally, the OAP.
With glasses pebble-thick;
Who struggles down the road,
With the aid of a walking stick.
These are the seven ages;
These are the different stages.
Some of the ages, folk may be denied,
While others are in for a long, long ride.
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