Her memories extend back

   Half a century beyond mine,

   But that doesn't mean she lives

   In another place or time.

   Her steps may not be swift,

   But her mind is quick and strong,

   And she brooks no tired conventions

   About where women belong.


Her place isn't the kitchen;

She's a woman about town

Where she moves with dignity

Flowing 'neath her silk-white crown.

She shares her time with others,

Like the kids in the stamp club,

Not to mention on the board of

Her town's literary hub.


                      

Her hobbies aren't the ones

That most quickly spring to mind

If one thinks of how "old ladies"

Tend to while away their time.

Sure, she enjoys picnics,

And then, too, she likes to read,

But balloon trips on a brisk  fall day

Are really more her speed.

                      

She's guarded by a watchdog

Hardly larger than a flea.

But he's still more than's required

For one of her bravery.

Her speech is laced with wit,

Common sense and intellect,

And a sly sweet smile covers

Teasing barbs she interjects.

                       

A teacher in her "prime"

Who's continued in this field

By with seemingly no effort

Priceless lessons to still yield

About how one might stay young

Every day as the years pass

Just by living every day

With a sense of grace and class.

                                            If ever there was proof

                                    That the spirit has no age,

                                    Then it surely is the "senior"

                                    Spoken of here on this page.

                                    A woman like no other,

                                    Yet to whom all can relate;

                                    A person whose true friendship

                                    I so much appreciate.