Beattie

A charming lady, I recall,
Had the most to offer of them all.
Her gifts and talents, she carried with her,
And when she appeared, you couldn't miss her.
Full five and thirty, was her age,
But sadly now, she earned no wage.
Once long ago, she'd done some cleaning,
Now she felt, life had no meaning.
All the day she twiddled her thumbs,
Then juggled her savings by doing her sums.
All that she wanted was to find a friend,
Then love him deeply unto the end.
Her life though really, was quite inactive,
And wasn't improved by chomping digestives.
Climbing stairs was such a feat,
It left her really quite deplete.
To reach the top, with all seams popped,
Meant not a trivial cough or sigh,
But had her gasping, "Oh my, Oh my."
And when this effort was forgotten,
Worry shifted to her stupendous bottom.
"How can I get it around that door,"
Or, "How on earth can I be sure
That once sat down on a quilty couch,
I will ever then rise out."
Girls from the town, would often think,
That like a battleship, she would sink,
And when she swam one day off Hull,
Fishermen there felt tidal pull.
But her cheeks of posies,
Like her heart of roses,
Meant Beattie was loved by all,
For who could resist, her passionate kiss,
Which came on a regular basis.