My grandmother was a genius. You'd like to know why?

Because she could climb trees. Spreading or high,

She'd be up their branches in a trice, and mind you

When last she climbed a tree she was sixty-two.

Ever since childhood, she'd had this gift

For being happier in a tree than in a lift; 

And though, as years went by, she would be told

That climbing trees should stop when one grew old--

And that growing old should be gone about gracefully--

She’d laugh and say, 'Well I' ll grow disgracefully,

I can do it better.' And we had to agree;

For in all the garden there wasn’t a tree 

She hadn't been up, at one time or another

(Having learned to climb from a loving brother

When she was six) --- but it was feared by all

That one day she'd have a terrible fall.

The outcome was different-while we were in town

She climbed a tree and couldn’t come down.

After the rescue, The doctor took Granny's temperature and said,

'I strongly recommend a quiet week in bed.'

We sighed with relief and tucked her up well.

Poor Granny! For her, it was like a brief season in hell.

Confined to her bedroom, while every breeze

Whispered of summer and dancing leaves.

But she had held her peace till she felt stronger.

Then she sat up and said, 'I'll lie here no longer!'

And she called for my father and told him undaunted

That a house in a treetop was what she now wanted.

My dad knew his duties. He said, 'That's all right

You’ll have what you want, dear. I' ll start work tonight.'

With my expert assistance, he soon finished the chore:

Made her a tree - house with windows and a door.

So granny moved up, and now every day

I climb to her room with glasses and tray.

She sits there in state and drinks coffee with me.

Upholding her right to reside in a tree.