Miss Mary Court Poem by Kevin Hulme

I died it says on the Chiseled Stone,
‘Aged 45 and Quite alone',
And amongst the mourners that stand and grieve
With Solemn looks and Blackened Weeds;
Are friends and family all gathered by,
Some now resigned, while others cry.
They pretend to know the man that's found
Beneath the Soil- the Sexton's mound.
So I watch with joy this farce at play,
‘For rather him than me' they'll say.
Their Love for me was the Placid Kind,
It's climate unchanged with the flow of time.
But behind the Yew and so alone,
A figure that Weeps of Heartbreak known,
A lady I see; Miss Mary Court,
A Stay- at- Home, the quiet sort-
Yes I'd see her on walks just once in a while,
‘Good Morning' she'd say with a timid smile.
Then watch as she turns to stroll away,
I wanted to ask, ‘Are you free today'?
But I always thought She'd give no mind,
To a Soul like me; the retiring kind.
But Oh-
How she Weeps;
How she Weeps.