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Eleanor Rigby?, Huh!, who the heck is she,
honestly though, never heard of her, or her of me.
Upon meeting her, maybe to think she's rather keen,
telling me a joke, I'd listen, whether dirty or clean.
I'd greet her with the grin of a smile,
followed up quickly with a wink of right eye.
I'm not at all lonely, people plainly can see,
able to approach one and all, even this chic named Rigby.
I overheard a man talking, early one day,
bent myself backwards, awkwardly, listening to what he'd say.
The man who was speaking, pretty sure a preacher or priest,
couldn't quite hear, Father Joe Pesce, Friar Fred Tuck, mind's trying at least.
Was said that she gave almost all that she had,
thousands of dollars and note, "for orphanage repairs, fix the bad."
After hearing this, I said to myself,
"must meet this Eleanor, with thanks of community help."
Days they came by, and days came and they went,
even managed a description of her through company she kept.
Time slowly slipped by, never met her at all,
only thing not tried, yelling her name through megaphone call.
One morning I sat, the daily newspaper close by,
picking the black and white up, quickly glancing with curious eyes.
Page five and page six, I slowed down not sure why,
the obituaries, faces of people, words of their life, news that they died.
There it was, it stood out so boldly,
explaining the fact of never meeting, no conversation unfolding.
     "Eleanor Rigby, peacefully passed while she slept,
     Calling Hours and Wake held Tuesday night, with open casket.
     She gave her life savings to children, whose life mediocre, not bad,
     upon completion of orphanage repairs and updates,
     a cornerstone embedded, honoring donations she made." 
I walk the path daily, under cornerstone of a lady never met,
tip my hat softly, her honor, quiet ways, and generous heart that she kept.
Eleanor Rigby, your never be lonely, people and sidewalk always keeping you company.
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