Lorna

Too Bad She Died - She Made Lovely Pickles

She could dress a deer

She could flip a pancake

Her baking brought tears

Her meatloaf was heartbreak

 

She shuffled the kitchen

She never looked good

She was just trying to give them 

Some good hearty grub

 

She grew fine cucumbers

Out in the garden

The farmhands remembered her

Out there quite often

 

They picked her some flowers

They never were fickle

They would give their right arms

For her and her pickles