She now lays in the cemetery though life for her was hell
And her life a tragic story though that story I must tell
She migrated to here from London in nineteen fifty two
When she was only twenty brown haired with eyes of blue.
She was known as Rose of London Rosemary was her name
A car accident in her early fifties had left her slightly lame
And in that tragic accident her husband Jim and their daughter died
Her happy life until then by cruel fate was destroyed.
Her husband Jim was fifty two and Ann their only child was twenty three
But Rosemary put her misfortune behind her and she overcame her tragedy
And she soldiered on bravely though her cross heavy to bear
Still the broken dreams of her life even time could not repair.
I often see her at the superstore she always wore the brightest clothes
Her silver hair and lovely face she did look like a rose
With her beautiful cockney accent she was cheerful and free of guile
And she would win the heart of Satan with the warmth of her smile.
In her battle with cancer poor Rose did not win through
Still she was a noble person and her equals all too few
Pre-deceased by her nearest and her dearest she battled on till the end
She was loved by many people and I miss her as a friend.
A kind hearted cockney lady and she wore the brightest clothes
She was known as Rose of London and she surely was a rose
She lost her nearest and her dearest and her's was a painful end
But she was admired by many and I loved her as a friend.