Lynne FincherSpringarden

Sweet Mary Kelly

Twas on the day that I was born
That from this world
You were torn
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

The last and worst
Of the Rippers work
You left this world so cold

In the past you still remain
For what purpose were you slain
An epitaph of sorrow and pain
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

And though the world remembers Jack
Your story’s not been told
To most you remain a mystery
So many turns in your history
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

Though known of ill repute
Such poverty must have driven thee
To such a sad pursuit
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

In London dark and cold
Your youth was quickly stole
Your sad and fragile life
Was stolen in the night
Of November ninth
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

The murders many feared
Its never been quite clear
How you fell that night
To such a fateful fright
Oh sweet Mary Kelly

Though stories there be many
Versions of your life a plenty
Those who watched in scorn
With no compassion to those forlorn
Women of the night in White Chapel

I wrote this poem for you
On the day of my birth
And though there be few who may morn
My prayers for you might have some worth

I dedicate this memorial verse
Perchance to remove the ripper curse
And though I ’m no Keats nor Shelly
I've penned this poem in remembrance of
Dear Sweet Mary Kelly

Submitted: Saturday, November 09, 2013
Edited: Monday, November 11, 2013

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