O’ Please, let’s go sledding over the hills,
recapture our youth with laughter and spills.
Let’s go to the top of each snowy glide,
then sail on the wind as we slip, and we slide.
With arms wrapped around you, I’ll hang on real tight—
we’ll build a bon-fire on this cold winter’s night.
Yes, let’s go sledding on mountains so high
pulling our sleds way up to the sky.
We’ll swoop, and we’ll squeal down hill and dell,
as we hear far below—a ringing church bell.
And when we’re soaking wet, and finally give up,
we’ll drink hot chocolate in a shiny tin cup.
We’ll return to the fireplace in our warm abode,
put on flannel jammies last Christmas I sewed.
Then snuggle deep under Granny’s old quilt—
saying our nightly prayers to relieve us of guilt.
Let’s pretend we’re the youngsters we used to be
though your sixty-five, and I’m sixty-three.