Mabel Vera Cone 1893-1911

Mabel Vera Cone 1893-1911 No one knew I existed. No one knew I died. No one, not even my family, Knew I lived in the back, Out back, way behind the small white house On shady Canobie Street. No one cared one iota. No one wondered where I was Or where I was going. If loneliness were a flower, I would be the faded one, Growing and struggling reluctantly Amidst the devouring weeds, Out back, way beyond and hidden there, Amidst the consuming burdock And the golden creeping jenny there. When I died that day, The last Saturday in moody June, I was alone and afraid. No one knew I existed. No one, not even my family, Knew I was dying. Dying in the darkness, Dying of inescapable isolation, The disease of misery and melancholia, Out back, way beyond and hidden there, Behind the small white house, On shady Canobie Street.