There was a man lived in a house
Made of graveyard bones!
'But bones decay: Why not use clay? '
A young girl said, 'and maybe sticks and stones? '
'Arhh, but these 'ere bones remind me that
This life on earth shall end.
For see, I took an axe to each;
Yes, mortal trees, for each one was my friend! '
And so the little girl was slain
In a most undignified way:
'How dare you say: 'use sticks and stones',
I will not! I say, use sticks and stones and clay! '
So he stripped her skin down to the bone
Which he placed in a pot, to boil;
This he would use to fill the cracks
Where wind whistled all the while!
The bones would mend his chimney stack
And the head he would keep, for he said:
'She has nice lips and eyes and hair...
Yes, all things nice, to keep me warm in bed! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem