My Grandma's Getting Old, They Say

My Grandma's Getting Old, They Say

My Grandma's getting old, they say.
Her hair is white, her step is slow.
She never goes a-pleasuring,
She'd rather sit and knit, or sew.
Her shoulders stoop and 'thout her specs
She'd find it hard, indeed, to see.
My Grandma's getting old, they say.
But, oh ! She is not old to me.

My Grandma's getting old they say,
But, oh ! She is not old to me.
A finer pal than Grandma is
I don't believe you'd ever see.
She mends my toys, and when I like
She'll play "make calls," or "drinking tea.'
My Grandma's getting old they say.
But NEVER will be old to me,