Here lies a poor woman who always was tired,
For she lived in a place where help wasn't hired,
Her last words on earth were, Dear friends I am going,
Where washing ain't done nor sweeping nor sewing,
And everything there is exact to my wishes,
For there they don't eat and there's no washing of dishes . . .
Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never,
For I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever.
An epitaph