horn-rimmed spectacles would fit her well,
a wide-eyed owl surveying tree dell,
scanning everything from her perch,
watching the battle-field, ready to lurch

with still glance, as priest with bell,
all and sundry, she seeks to quell,
with tongue as whip to flail and scourge,
all else besmear, purge and smirch

if she berates, she'll make it clear,
her will is paramount, just quake in fear
from the rooftop she seeks applause
and will rejoice in finding flaws

bumptious 'n pushy, she rules her cell,
hers is paradise, all others, hell,
if you're lucky, you may carry her verge,
and at her bequest, sing her dirge