Sounds a bit John Donne

Breasts and thighs so firm,

Lying cold at the mercy of

That fruity graveyard worm

 

With age you consider more

The destiny of your remains

When time puts an end to

Yearsful of aches and pains

 

Bodies decay, even one as

Delicious as bonny Linda's,

Whatever made her stipulate

Bowing out in hot cinders?

 

Either way she's history

Torso's turned to smoke,

I wont be feeling it again

Nor will any other bloke

 

On her beloved allotment

Of worms Linda did learn,

Spurning inhumation for

A copper, worm-free urn