Murder At The Manor Poem by Phil Soar

The night was young and so was she
She sat astride the old man's knee
She teased him with her derriere
And kissed his face and stroked his hair
She danced around the sitting room
From early morn till afternoon
And when she'd done, he was too
The Lord of the manor was ninety-two
Died from a dose of excitable lust
With a hand on his heart and one on her bust
She inherited the lot and then sold it
After letting the old man hold it