Duds Culture

A woman once in full bloom
Now as blossoming as a broom
After weary “weaks” at a sleazy fire
For a week without pure ire
Made to drink the corpse sweet Atabrine
Now un-attenuated and pine
As if in lunatic asylum
To dance while the devils drum
Standing trials in the court of the dead
Scraping hairs, living skull of a head
Crossing the corpse, dressed in black
And her wears laying very slack
All allegations of killing her hubby
And now a squarely tattered chubby
…Oh! What a gross inhumanity
Unleashed on an innocent personality

That used to cook with cauldron
For her now isolated family, none
Remembers the good old days “time”
All floated in the sea of mime
For wanting harvest of left wealth
And spats in the face of good health
Because of a young duds culture
That speaks negative of nature.