There she sat,
With her arms around his hat,
Her face was fool of tears
And thoughts over flowing with fears,
There she was in the dark
With two pieces of her heart,
He us to always be there
Now her heart will not repair.
This is a poem fool of sorrow
And yet none of it is barrowed
For all was and is mine
And I did it before I was twenty nine.
And whence to the grave I go
He shall not have to fallow.
Under that brick plat
She will steal be holding his hat.