Three score years ago I remember Gramma Bell.
She was all of lavender and lace,
White hair, voile, figure kept well.
Full of ladylike grace.
I wanted to be like her so much,
But there were brothers and all,
So to do climbing, hunting and such,
The outdoors had its call.
Boarding school wasn't much better,
There were classes and regimen
But we had to be a go getter'
Military sculpted us to win.
Children of my own,
I had a battle to fight,
Just to stay with them in my home,
Don't be too desirable or bright.
Rather a little slow,
Maybe even a little plain.
Certainly don't glow.
Stay free of that stream main.
Ah at last, "I whispered to myself."
I'm of the age, free to be womanly.
What an awakening not for me the shelf,
Wait! You must know you still are not free.
Grandchildren I love so dearly true,
I won't see them languishing where,
Their little hearts are for one moment blue,
Me and my barefeet, jean shorts, we care.
Don't even look to tomorrow,
When the role to play of the feminine,
Face it, be frank, no sorrow,
We are past the late bloomer sin.