If Aunty Dotty had a fault
It was her tendency to talk.
Incessantly and all day long
She chattered on and on and on.
And when it came to Uncle Jim
This tendency it bothered him.
Both in the day and through the night
She nattered on without respite.
He blocked his ears with cotton wool:
This made no difference at all,
Her dreadful voice he still could hear
Coming through both loud and clear.
Having heard her prattle so,
He murdered her with one big blow.
The inquest said she tripped and fell
And freed him from his prison cell.
Cremated, Aunty’s body burned,
And was interred inside an urn.
Then Uncle had it sealed and corked
To prevent post mortem talk.
One awful night Jim just froze,
Hair on end and curling toes;
The squeaky voice of Aunty Dot
Emanated from the pot.
This story really is outrageous,
How can ashes be loquacious?
She’s been potted up for weeks,
But now again Aunt Dotty speaks!