Of Mysteries, I'D Like To Tell
A pot of soup, a girl named Nell
Of mysteries, I'd like to tell
Nell made the soup, hard by the mill
Where men took lunch, so in came Bill
A strapping lad, with wavy hair
Best-looking buck, who came in there
The talk was loud, the time was short
Nell's soup was swallowed, by the quart
Though she was shy, Nell winked at Bill
(But) for him she was, 'another Jill' ...
The years went by, Nell made her soup
From loyalty, to worker groups
The men they liked Nell's soup so much
Bill also saw (!) her special touch...
Again time passed, Nell's hair turned gray
One winter's storm, Nell passed away
Next lunch the soup just had no taste
When told she died, white was Bill's face
He'd lost the only girl for him
All hope now gone, his future grim
So, men, make sure to wed your Nell
True love's heaven, why live in hell
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