Roasted

Tennis shoes slipping on a muddy hill
Gloved hands tingling in the snow
Bird song freezing in a frozen trill
And Grammy's dressed up like Eskimos

Everybody knows some twigs and some dried dead leaves
Help to make us look like tykes
Youthful grandmas in their wintery weaves
Will find it hard not to hike tonight

They know that old age is on its way
And now's the time to walk and time to play
So every grandma knows it's time to try
And prove that they are still quite spry.

And so I thought that you ought to know
For those who want that rosy bloom
Don't go hiking in the mud and snow
Or they'll put you in a rubber room.