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Robert W Service - The Widower
Work rating: Medium

Oh I have worn my mourning out,
And on her grave the green grass grows;
So I will hang each sorry clout
High in the corn to scare the crows.
And I will buy a peacock tie,
And coat of cloth of Donegal;
Then to the Farmer`s Fair I`ll hie
And peek in at the Barley Ball.

But though the fiddlers saw a jig
I used to foot when I was wed,
I`ll walk me home and feed the pig,
And go a lonesome man to bed.

So I will wait another year,
As any decent chap would do,
Till I can think without a tear
Of her whose eyes were cornflower blue.

Then to the Harvest Ball I`ll hie,
And I will wear a flower-sprigged vest;
For Maggie has nut-brown eyes,
And we will foot it with the best.

And if kind-minded she should be
To wife me - `tis the will of God . . .
But Oh the broken heart of me
For her who lies below the sod!
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