At 17 a girl blushes
At the slightest scheme to kiss her
At 27 she is in heaven when her beaux
Stubs his toe to get to her
And she with never a kiss
Seeks to dismiss his advances
As merely posing
But just supposing at 37
When the ripening age begins 
Then her blushes are rarely staged
She has heard it all before
And at 45 you takes no jive
From barroom Gigolos
Apt to tread on  her toes
As they  go dancing
Slapped wrist prancing
As wandering hands denounce
His standing as a gentleman
For as everyone knows
A lady's dancing
Is not for the chancing of admonishment
For she is heaven sent at fifty five
A women completely alive
To what true love means
For there her beaux
Has no schemes
To treat her wrongly
For then she is 
At her most enchanting
A  rare and graceful beauty
Whose blushes come quite regulary
Such that when challenged softly
She denies they are anything
But hot flushes,not at all blushes
But last night I knew differently