Money was no object,
She had a wealthy dad
And when he kicked the bucket,
He left her all he had.
She bought a gleaming sports car
And wardrobes full of clothes,
She ate in London's hottest spots,
Had surgeons change her nose.
She so enjoyed her comforts
And to fit the life she led
She took a trip Harrods
And bought a water-bed.
And, in spite of central heating
And quilts of finest down,
A large electric blanket.
She always went to town.
But this was her undoing
And led to her demise.
One night she laid upon her bed
And closed her tired eyes
Not knowing that the water-bed
Had got a little leak.
She died in circumstances
Which were something of a freak.
The water from the water-bed,
The electric blanket hot,
The two collaborated soon
And that then was her lot.
She slept on fully unaware
And as the dawn approached,
The combination killed her.
Next day they found her - poached.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well Terry, It doesn't matter how much money you have you can't take it with you. This a very sad story. I feel she was selfish also. Maybe I am wrong but to get a face lift. If money was no object then she took life for granted. Sorry, It angers me when people are so vain. Excellent poem.