Brown passed away, and Mrs Brown, <br />In weeds all smothered, went through town <br />By Brown's neat grave to take her stand, <br />And hold a metaphoric hand. <br />She diligently drove away <br />The sorrel springing every day. <br /> <br />When Mrs. Robert Wittle died <br />Poor Bob would sit her grave beside <br />On Sunday afternoons, and shed <br />His briny tribute to the dead; <br />And dimpled Mrs. brown and he <br />Had quite a bond of sympathy. <br /> <br />But presently, I understand, <br />'Twas Bob who held the widow's hand. <br />She decker herself in orange spray, <br />And all her weeds she cast away. <br />Now where the sorrel sheds its seeds <br />Brown's grave is thick with widow's weeds.<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-weeds/
