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From Kansas there once was a quilter,
Who worried her husband would jilt her,
When asked by a friend,
Why hub's at wits end,
She said ten machines I've rebuilt here.
From Kansas there once was a quilter,
On her way to buy coffee filters,
While stopping at sales,
No allowance for gales,
Was made and a tornado "kilt" her.
In heaven we now find our quilter,
Who asked what machines she might pilfer,
St. Peter did say,
On that dreadful day,
Not for long last the kind of your ilk here.
Down in hell we now find our quilter,
With more than remorse and much guilt..er...
...While snooping around,
The Featherweight found,
Was the Big Guy's and now she must wilt there.
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