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!