The telegram was brief
as all telegrams should be.
Unless you have endless money.
The one that arrived
just said: She died.
My cousin assumed
that I knew the old shrew
the one called Aunt Jill
or the kids, Mrs. Pill.
More than two words I rarely heard spoke.
I always believed her voice box was broke.
Children should be seen and not heard.
So to us she barely uttered a word.
When the telegram arrived
I wasn't surprised.
Aunt Jill was old
and had amassed silver and gold
as she was convinced the economy would crash.
But I guess all the stress
caused her mad dash
to the grave at age fifty four.
And Oh The Horror!
when we heard from the lawyer
that Aunt Jill had buried her treasure.
So shovels in hand, our greed without measure
We surrounded her yard and glared at each other.
"I am the one to whom THREE words were said!"
shouted our least favorite cousin, Cousin Ted.
"Oh ya?!" screamed Bob, pickax in the air.
And that's when I decided to slip through a tear
in the worn fence while the fighting commenced.
And return to my life
which until tonight
Aunt Jill hadn't affected at all.
I still do not have endless money.
But to me, that seems safe.
Lest in the end, my telegram be
just as brief.