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Sunday after Evensong
We would go for a sherry
Now don't get me wrong
It was just a sherry, nothing more
I'd look at her face
She would look at the floor
We'd talk of the sermon
By old reverand Jones
We'd have little giggles
Sometimes little moans
But on the whole
It was nice was that
An hour in the pub
Chewing the fat
Then one of these evenings
We two widowed old hags
Were out in the shelter
Smoking our fags
When all of a sudden
She bursts into tears
Whatevers the matter?
Bereavement I feared
Its my rent
She says all forlorn
Ive spent all me savings
Everythings gone
I cant pay my rent
Theyre chucking me out
She was in a pickle
Of thats theres no doubt
Anyway, me
A Christian soul
I helped her out
Of this deepening hole
She was ever so grateful,
And said so a lot
Those promised repayments,
Well I never got,
But nevermind,
Right thing to do,
Soon back in the pub
For a sherry or two
Then one summer Sunday
She wasn't in church
Perhaps she was ill
Or again in the lurch
I called round on Monday
But nobody at home
Following Sunday
Sherry alone
Maybe the police?
Would they think me insane?
Or maybe her niece?
Oh what was her name
I pick up the paper
I need a distraction
If only to forgive myself
My inaction
And, well 
I hardly know where to begin
Paper tells
Of a ten million lottery win
And smiling at me
Holding her champagne
A widow I know
I shall not see again

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