She struts and straps with borrowed grace
A painted mask, a hollow face
She croaks and croaks making noises deep
These are but echoes of what she learnt like a sheep
Her brittle mind, a shallow pond
No depth no wade, no truth beyond
Delusions of grandeur and stories stirred
A spiteful hate monger, Turd the bird
She polishes her golden cage,
Arranges life upon a stage,
But pretty angels fool no more
A rotting heart will stain the floor
She cannot tame the man she wed
So throws sharp stones at hearts instead
Her tongue a blade of bitter spite
She feeds on hate her sole delight
No grace no poise just noise and flail
A clumsy crow in a peacock’s veil
Her ignorance, arrogance is a dismal story unheard
How to have a rotten day, just ask Turd the bird
She casts her rage on those who shine
Each jealous breath a curse, a whine
Her soul decayed her mind absurd
To be a horror? Just ask Turd the bird