STILL:

Your pale lace edged bosom I can still recall,

Sashaying of your hip at that old summer ball,

Your pert derriere, oh, used to drive me so wild,

Hair upon your head, in golden tendrils up-piled,

Black seamed stockings & your well turned heel,

I´ll never have the words to tell you how I feel.

 

I still love your white bosom, now in flannelette clad,

Your old hip upon your crutches still makes me glad,

Your derriere, now not so pert, but still so reassuring,

Your hair now silver & like moonlight, is still so alluring,

You now wear slippers & warm stockings of thick twill,

But oh my sweet little darling, how I love you so, still.