My dear old Granny,
How I shall miss her
What a tragedy.

She crossed over the road
To avoid walking under a ladder,
Being of a somewhat superstitous bent.

Thus she got squashed by a bus,
Like a plump ripe tomato
In spaghetti alla vongole.

So no more shall I have to suffer
Her slipping me the tongue
When I kiss her good night.

But the stench of her filthy farts
Will always remain with me
As will the cushion stains.