There's a twinkle in her eye, <br />O, so merry! O, so sly! <br />That you never see the wrinkles in her face; <br />She's so full of fun and play <br />That you never see the gray <br />In her tresses, and you never see a trace <br />Of the feebleness of years, <br />Born of heartaches and of tears; <br />She's the youngest of the children still today. <br />All the charm of youth remains, <br />All her beauty she retains. <br />O, she's right up to the minute in her way. <br /> <br />Just because she's seventy-two <br />Any old thing will not do, <br />She believes that she must always look her best; <br />Though her gowns are mostly black, <br />She was never known to lack <br />A little dash of color at her breast. <br />'Just because I'm old,' says she, <br />'Do not think I'm going to be <br />Out of style and frumpy looking, for I'm not! <br />And when folks come in to call, <br />I'm not going to wear a shawl <br />And cover up the splendid things I've got.' <br /> <br />O, dear grandma, let me say, <br />As I look at you today, <br />In your stylish gown of satin with its little touch of blue; <br />As I see your merry eye, <br />When the years have wandered by <br />May I only be as happy and as lovable as you. <br />May I come from out the gloom <br />Of my troubles with the bloom <br />Of a heart that's ever youthful still in view, <br />With a dash of color gay <br />To relieve the somber gray, <br />May I be as young as you at seventy-two.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grandma-82/
