Aunt Hulda was a clever girl.
Her nose was borrowed from a hawk.
Her family called her a pearl,
and what she mainly did was talk.
At three a.m. the dogs would wake
from Hulda's constant pillow talk.
The neighbours took, for friendship's sake
their early morning wake-up walk.
At breakfast she would really start,
she hardly ate because she rambled.
Her use of language was an art,
she was a teacher and she scrambled
on weekends with the mountaineers
up sheer cliff walls to keep her fitness.
Each night she'd drink a dozen beers.
And smoked cigars, God is my witness.
They said the reason she stayed single
was mainly that enormous nose.
She wasn't shy, would often mingle,
whenever an event arose.
It is reported that a cyst
was underneath that sudden jag,
and that the angle, if she kissed,
as was the custom, by the flag
near City Hall, the boy would kink
his neck and bruise his facial bones.
Next day they'd make a nasty stink
to all their mates in sneering tones.
So Hulda crossed them off her list,
and ran the farm and taught the kids
as mamsel with an iron fist.
Took in a youngish man named Fritz,
devoted that one was, good God!
He stayed with her for sixty years.
All relatives found this quite odd,
because she shared with Fritz her beers.
But when I, as a nosy lad,
who, fond of berries and of cakes
would visit she would look so sad.
And sometimes we would grab our rakes,
to turn the hay on giant fields,
when she told stories of her life,
she taught me that our outer shields
send signals to prospective wives,
or hopeful suitors, full of lust,
who, pennyless roam through the land
to find a woman 'cause they must.
'But most are smart and understand
to leave us ugly ones alone.
And, as you see, my boy, I chose
to watch TV, talk on the phone,
so that the job of fighting those
perverted souls in men's pyjamas
would not come up and I could sleep
eight quiet hours without dramas.'
At ninety nine old Fritz keeled over,
while sitting on the rust-brown tractor
and mowing luscious, dark green clover,
(I think the bottle was a factor) ,
and eighty blades cut him to shreds.
It, driverless, went to the city,
(this is as gory as it gets) ,
the pieces did attract some pity,
and after a gigantic lurch,
a funeral was underway,
they came to rest imside a church.
At home, meanwhile, Aunt Hulda cried.
Poor Fritz, that loyal, honest peasant,
had left forever Hulda's side
and life had now ceased to be pleasant.
Aunt Hulda lived for twelve more years.
Townfolks called her the Bottlebee,
in her back garden, with her beers,
she'd sit under her wattle tree,
with her new friend called Slivovitz,
from Zagreb, overproof and strong.
She drank and toasted her old Fritz:
'Oh Fritzy, I do miss your Schlong.'