in the wintertime, around February,
my grandmother, who was 88 years old
the last time I remember her doing this,
She would dig holes in the hard earth
that was just beginning to thaw,
of one of those old blue mason jars
so the sun's rays in the spring
and squinch it down over the bulb.
Get up, brush off her legs
when you get as old as Nanny
and the cold gets into your bones,
you just don't want to go on.
And I laughed and I said, Nanny,
and the year before that.
Sometimes the cold gets in my bones
And for a little while, well, I don't care
if my days are coming to an end
Sometimes a night comes down on me
And even in this cold old house
with no one to say goodnight to me
Sometimes I wonder why I stay,
they've got children of their own,
they don't need me no more.
In winter, when the streets are bare,
there is nothing much to see.
I can't help missin' think about
Things are blooming, birds are singing
it's like my heart's re stored.
I had my love, I had my children,
and I have so many memories.
So don't mind me complaining,
what the years may bring.
And I'm glad I'm seeing an other