DOWAGER.

I found her at the bottom of a barrel,
The second one of the night,
The first was much too lambent
And saved me from my sight.

But this one was benighted,
And left me little choice,
Laid down in late vacation
And with its own invoice.

She shed herself of mortal soul,
Of sin and virtue’s comb,
And settled in my darkest room
Where she could feel at home.

And I out lived her once she left,
As light bequeaths value;
I’m glad I stumbled onto her
In barrel number two.