Lady Fudd is quite refined;
A dame like her is hard to find.
She primps and blots her teeny nose
Then pins her curls in tidy rows.
And when she’s dressed up à la mode,
She asks her guests to her abode.
She takes their coats and hangs them right,
Then smiles and coos, “We feast tonight.”
But mourn the guest whose manners slip;
She gives their head a frightful rip.
– Anna Kozloski