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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
But what was this paper? The paper! wup!
This was the paper. When Cain went up
And found the misthress lyin' dead,
He found this paper on the bed,
And took it, and read it, and kept it by'm—
The dirty rascal! all the time.
This paper was written by his wife,
And statin' the tired she was of her life—
And the wishful to die—that's the way it was tould—
And the Lord to have mercy upon her sowl!
And somethin' about her weddin'-ring—
Disthracted lek; poor thing! poor thing!
This was the paper. When Cain went up
And found the misthress lyin' dead,
He found this paper on the bed,
And took it, and read it, and kept it by'm—
The dirty rascal! all the time.
This paper was written by his wife,
And statin' the tired she was of her life—
And the wishful to die—that's the way it was tould—
And the Lord to have mercy upon her sowl!
And somethin' about her weddin'-ring—
Disthracted lek; poor thing! poor thing!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |