Judging by her luggage
the taxi man's unloading,
it seems she'll be staying a while.
Whenever Bertha visits,
she makes a grande dame entrance,
for Bertha has her own peculiar style.
Resembling a battleship,
flags flying at the stern,
she marches with aplomb to my front door.
She barely gets the door shut
and is putting on her apron;
my dust and dear Aunt Bertha are at war.
I don't mind the dear old lady,
though she does bemoan her lot,
telling all the 'rellies' how she holds the fort.
We all know Bertha's foibles,
while she's battling dust bunnies,
she's already found my favourite stash of port.
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