When the police
first inquired, they didn’t see her expired, so dead on the floor she did stay
When they
discovered her dead, the vines they were spread, all over held taut by the
spiders
Just dentures and
bones, of varying tones, with all services ceased by providers
No water, no
power, just grime in the shower, not touched for such a long time
Her phone
disconnected, her mail redirected, all Centrelink payments declined
Dead at seventy-nine,
but no one would find her body til she passed eighty seven
Cause of death is
a mystery, little known of her history, or what it was that sent her to heaven
Natalie Wood she
was dead, she fell, hit her head, her age meant she could not recover
And for eight
lengthy years, nobody shed tears, til someone broke in to discover
Where she lay on
the floor, they had thought she was poor, her kinfolk just couldn't care less
No one called in,
to see how she’d been, to them how she was was a guess
When they found
that her wealth had outlasted her health, they came from places all round
Eighty grand in
the bank, and a house though it stank, they knew that its value was sound
Like leeches they
came, apportioning blame, at the others for not giving a toss
For the love of
her money, she was everyone’s honey, but their mourning was not for her loss
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