Today he calls me ‘grand-ma’,
   My hair as white as snow,
But that’s not what he called me
   Near fifty year ago;
My curls a fiery tangle,
   My skin a slick of sweat,
My lover riding bare-back
   And we just only met!

When next you’re with your grand-ma,
   Try closing half an eye,
Smooth out the wrinkled creases,
   Add lipstick on the sly,
Imagine fiery tresses,
   Imagine there’s no dress!
Then save your pity, dearie —
   Been there — done that.  Oh yes!