Here lies revolting old Miss Gertie

who, at the age of nine and thirty,

Dissatisfied by youthful flings,

Set out to make the worst of things.

At forty seven she discovered

A sergeant snoozing in her cupboard–

A strange aliveness where she’d fully

Expected pillow sham and d’oyley!—

So with a well built rolling pin,

She dashed his young medulla in.

 

The jury heaped its praise upon her,

Who’d killed a youth to save her honour

with wistful curtsey, as requested

She left the court room unarrested.

But ever afterwards a spectre

Managed by cunning to detect her.

It glided round her stately maple

And glared upon her visage Papal.

Smoothing her chins with fingers mossy,

It made her rest extremely tossy.

 

At last things could be borne no more.

She flung herself upon the floor.

Seizing a weapon inches long,

A brass hilt and a sharp zinc prong,

She re-designed her cerebrum,

Disrupting its continuum.

Here lies terrible old Miss Gertie

Who, at the age of nine and thirty,

Dissatisfied by youthful flings,

Prepared to make the worst of things.

 

And even now, beneath the sod,

She plans to make the worst of God.