She had, those days she spent outside
so many visitors, some became regulars,
they'd talk and bob their feathered heads,
and raise, with pride, impressive wings.

Inside she'd entertain, it was a real joy.
The cheapest most mundane of any music,
from classics over Bartok to a touch of Soul,
she'd dance, and sometimes dance the night away,
Mazel and Karajan would have been mighty proud.

Today, she needed extra love, she asked us all,
each person had to scratch her scrawny neck.
But no one did suspect, no one was told.
She sat (birds do not sit) , there, at the bottom
of her wire home, and she looked very, very ill.

I think she knew she would not ever go outside,
though feathered friends were calling, by the gate.
She did not call to them, but said her last good bye,
to those who truly loved Dame Edna, Lady Cockatoo.

A few of Edna's garbled words rose from the cage,
then, with a small sigh she rolled, so full of grace onto her side.
That was the moment that our friend, our Edna died,
and she will know, who in this house went off and cried.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/edna-s-death/