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Poem

She was a woman who had a little hair on her chin.
She was older, robust, called simply Old Finn.
It did not make sense that they called her this at nineteen.
Still, she was the wisest one in the local tavern, usually seen.

If we had a question about our drink or our food
We could always ask Old Finn; she was in a loud mood.
That never changed, her voice brought rats from the rafters.
She was a beer-loving-waitress, known by beer drafters.

Her manner was coarse, but she was tavern exact.
Knowing how to do every job and that is a fact!
I grew up here with my grandparents since a little tyke.
I cannot give you your car keys, honey. Borrow a bike.

She took no risks, would not let anyone drive home drunk.
Sometimes she would call the police – her nephew McFunk.
Lumberjack burley, he would take you swiftly out of danger. 
You might wake up in bed, sometimes next to a stranger. 

Old Finn would keep your secrets, she never spoke ill of you.
She would uplift your spirit, and help you keep down your blue.
Her funeral was the largest our village had ever seen or had.
If you don’t believe me, ask your cousins, mom or granddad.

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