Lawrence Hall
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                            ****** Most Cosy

A ****** cannot possibly be cosy
With blood all over the vicarage floor
And while Miss Marple is politely nosy
There is still the problem of all that gore

A ****** committed in an English village
Is hardly cosy to m’lord who died
Surrounded by hop fields under tillage
He still is dead (tho’ in the countryside)

A ****** cannot possibly be cosy –
But is the widow finding life now rosy?