Fair thee well Ducky dear.
I hate you not for doing it,
I wouldn't call you a fleer,
For I too have lost my grit,
And stood at the very edge,
Saddled by all I had to haul,
And felt like a broken sledge,
But darling it's not fair at all,
To make a girl a widow this way.
You took my soul with you,
When you chose to jump over,
You took my soul in your rue,
To the very bottom of the river,
And your folks are blaming me,
Because they can't understand,
That I can't tell how't came to be.
But it wasn't fair by your hand,
To make a girl a widow this way.
You left me on the devil's swing,
Once up I go and then down I go,
Smiling with memories and crying,
At the things that I'll never know,
At a future we both dreamt about,
Questions and fingers pointed at me
At jests and fate's damning clout,
Rest ye well, but twasn't fair of thee,
To make a girl a widow this way.