And my weak bladder  is a curse to me

I wear red leggings underneath my dress
My legs are cold and turning slightly blue
So I dress like the Muslim ladies do
Is it sinful, must  I now confess?

You see, I don’t like wearing denim jeans
And yet the summer is not very warm
So to keep my legs and bladder calm
I’m brighter than a can of Heinz baked beans

I like to wear  bright colours like the flowers
But English summers are not trustworthy
And my weak bladder  is a curse to me
The germs get in and I go twice an hour. [or more!]

Antibiotics do their work slowly
And on the sofa, I lie with a book
It’s much too narrow as a lover’s nook
So with my Keats contented, I must be.

The post man looked a little bit surprised
But though I’m 89 I still like clothes
Does he think that I am one of those?
Or maybe I’m a mugger in disguise?

So see  me in your mind’s eye looking bright
And then like me, perhaps you’ll see the light