I knew Myrtle when she was tiny,
her cheeks all rosy, her energy, sprightly.
As she got older she grew and she grew,
she wore a 16 and a size F cup too.

She wasn’t less pretty or anything bad,
we thought her large frame was just puppy fat.
Sadly, she hated herself more and more
and began to avoid all her meals! Such a bore.

Soon she grew thinner, far thinner than most
and so dear old Myrtle did die, now she’s toast.
I loved my friend Myrtle and when she was tubby
it didn’t stop Myrtle from being quite lovely.

The moral is clear to you folks with a tummy,
don’t starve yourself thin or you’ll die, it’s not funny.
If Myrtle were here I’m sure she’d have said
if you starve yourself thin you’ll end brown bread.

Ruth Walters

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-myrtle/