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