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