​Aunt Hannah was a maiden, 
Was ne'er beguiled by men; 
She lived in single blessedness 
Till three score years and ten, 
Romance had never touched her, 
Until, to shock the town,
She took the good old name of Clark 
And dropped the well known Brown.

Two little nephews had she, 
And I was one of them,
For us her heart was tender, warm
Beneath her rugged face and form. 
We never had an ice-cream cone 
Nor yet a red banana,
Our height of bliss and happiness 
Was a visit to Aunt Hannah.

Aunt Hannah wore a home made dress, 
In checks of red and black,
Of wool she'd carded, spun and wove 
From off her own sheep's back.
Its cut was to of Paris style,
It had a rugged grace,
Well fitted to her sturdy form, 
Her firm and forceful face.

Her doughnuts were of ancient mold, 
The body bigger than the hole; 
Her apple pie with maple sweet, 
To boyish taste a real treat. 
A gooseberry bush close to the door 
Had flavor never known before; 
On old-time chestnuts near at hand 
Grew biggest nuts in all the land.

Aunt Hannah had an eight day clock 
Stored in her dusty attic,
We'd wind it up and strike it down 
With loud and awful racket; 
With rattle, bang, it pealed off time, 
To us it was music most sublime; 
The noise we made disturbed her none, 
Her ears were deaf as moss-grown stone.
​
Aunt Hannah passed, time long gone by 
To brighter realms beyond the sky; 
A cellar hole, a crumbling chimney base 
Is all I find to mark her place, 
But when I reach the golden gate 
I'll say in childish manner
Dear Saint Peter let me in,
I've come to see Aunt Hannah.