Roses are a lovely plant,
A long-time favourite of my aunt
They flower for her every day
More since uncle passed away
He’s buried in the flowerbed
Since aunt whacked him in the head
It wasn’t just a simple spat
She loved her roses; he loved his cat
Each day aunt would prune and hoe
Each night that cat would boldly go
Tension daily grew and grew
Until one day aunt’s temper blew
With bulging eyes and face all red
She grabbed a shovel from the shed
And swung it like a baseball bat
First at uncle, then the cat
She tenderly laid them to rest
Poor uncle and the furry pest
She buried them real close to home
Against the fence in sandy loam.
Where aunt sometimes now plucks a bloom
And ponders on the victim’s doom
She oft regrets that it were so,
But oh, those roses, how they grow
Yet sadly Aunt had been misled
The hated cat still was not dead
Nine lives it had to haunt her still
No more the roses would they thrill
They grew so well you understand
Fragrant yes, but not so grand
Wafting on the evening air
Stench only of the rotting pair
No more the favourite of my aunt
No rosewater to decant
Just haunting eyes o’er her bed
From a disembodied head
A ghoulish purring in the night
Now wakens aunt in awful fright
Her nightmare roses ooh ooh ow
Are thorn-like claws meow meow
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