Let me tell you a curious tale,
Of a burglar, bold and hale,
Who chose one night to ply his trade,
Unaware of the plans fate had laid.
He opened a window and slipped inside,
Moving softly, seeking to hide.
He thought to wait ’til the house was still,
Then sneak away with his loot-filled thrill.
Under a bed, he crept with care,
Hiding himself from sight or stare.
Little he knew of the room he’d picked,
Or the twist of fate that soon would flick.
At nine, the occupant entered in,
An old maid weary, with a quiet grin.
She closed the door, feeling secure,
Not a thought that a thief might lure.
She removed her teeth, set her eye aside,
And laid her wig where it could bide.
The burglar shook; his courage fled,
As he stared in shock from under the bed.
Before he could sneak away unseen,
The old maid turned, her eyes keen.
She grabbed him quick, her grip a vise,
Her cool demeanor was cold as ice.
No scream, no shout, no frantic call,
Just steady resolve, surprising all.
She smiled and said, “At long, long last,
A man’s here, though shadows cast!”
From beneath her pillow, a gun emerged,
And with stern resolve, her voice surged:
“Marry me now, or else, dear sir,
I’ll send you to heaven in quite a blur!”
The burglar froze, his strength all gone,
Caught in a trap he’d never foreseen.
He eyed her teeth, her glassy stare,
And sighed, “Just shoot. I haven’t a prayer.”
