irene dinsmore, at age forty four
still had looks that turned many a head
but when eighteen, she was a a beauty queen
and her looks, knocked men dead.
she was known to preen, dressed in evergreen
as she sat and stared into space
her hands deftly moved, which disproved,
the vacancy on her face
she sewed a dress, designed to impress,
without needle or thread
her hands did steer, even though clear
that it was all in her head
irene had had trauma, lots of drama,
when she was younger, you see
the doctors thought best, that she rest
away from you and me
because she did murder, cold blooded curdled,
the man that took her virginity
screamed as she beat him, til his light was dim
and now, mad is she.