Since I am tired of seeing red and purple hats and things everywhere I go, and Goth is now a symbol of teenage angst and just plain depressing. I thought that it was High Time, some things changed.
So I borrowed Elizabeth Lucas' poem Warning, which is where the old broads in their red hats get their name. Tweaked around a few words.
This will suit until I am struck by a poem that better suits.



WARNING
When I am an young woman I shall wear black
With a black hat which suits me and adds to the air of mystery.
And I shall spend my monies on incencese and vintage clothes
And paste jewelery, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall shade myself under a parasol when I am hot
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick my tongue out at people who stare
And make up for the sobriety of my later age.
I shall go out in my barefeet in the rain
And tend the flowers in other people's graves . . .

http://tribes.tribe.net/ogisfun