Her soiled grubby apron
Frayed strings, tied in a ‘granny’
Shoes worn and wooden, as her emotions
Her smile revealed no wickedness
Eyes, soft and blue
She shed no tears,over a fathers love
That had been dead for years
Her hopes were good, but not too good
Her laughter was, gay, jolly and infectious
More than anything, she adored her four cats
Whom prowled,hissed, and growled
He-hawed, and roared, and purred and pawed
She named all four Jim
And secretly desiring to be slim
She nibbled and gnawed
And occasionly, she would diet
Her cats were all worn, and as old as she
As she fed them fresh meat for tea
She ate with them, on the floor
For she was quite mad, and more
The police arrived one day
As her cats and cottage, were left to decay
Four men had been slain
To feed her cats, oh so vain
The men, all named Jim, were long dead
She killed them in memory of her father
Whom had occasionally shared her bed
by Jemia