Gran'pa's locks are white as snow,
Those he still possesses,
Ghosts of curls of long ago,
Wraiths of boyhood's tresses.
Wrinkles o'er his features thin
Zigzag without pity,
Like the streets and alleys in
Famous Boston city.

Time has bent his form with years,
And his legs are thinner
And less comely than the shears
Used by any tinner.
Lusty was he once and gay,
Full of manhood's graces;
But of that long vanished day
There are now few traces.

Yet he in his youthful pride
Pleased the fair sex greatly;
Many lassies for him sighed, —
Many ladies stately.
Hearts once throbbed and ached for him;
Tears wet silken lashes;
But those eyes in death are dim,
And those hearts are ashes.

Gran'pa has one sweetheart yet,
Daintiest of creatures,
Whose two eyes of deepest jet
Still approve his features.
Nellie is her name, you see,
And, if I remember
What her age is, she was three
Some time last December.

Oft her hands, so chubby fair,
O'er his face she passes
Tenderly, and with great care
Not to touch his glasses.
Oft his form I've seen her scan,
And I've caught her saying:
" Gran'pa's such a handsome man, "
Thus her love betraying.