When Cuthbert was cremated she was sad
But taking home his ashes she was glad
For in a way she'd always have him there
His company forever she would share.
She kept them in a special cut-glass pot
Which from a local antique shop she'd got
And on the mantelpiece it always stood
And she was happy he'd be there for good.
But visitors would see it in the room
And that is was an ashtray would presume
And in it cigarette ash they would drop
And very soon they filled it to the top.
Her sister, seeing this, was quite appalled
And said there's much more ash since I last called.
'That's very true, Miranda', she replied
'He's really put some weight on since he died'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem