The Jilted Bride

I had a dream the other night,
About this upstart, Lily White.
And how, with passionate desire,
She tried to capture Sam Maguire.

Now Lily, as you know yourself,
Had long been left upon the shelf.
For, though she scarcely needed urging,
For forty years she’d been a virgin.

Bold Sam had made a lot of passes,
At many other lovely lasses,
And, though poor Lily’s heart was true,
Sam was always only passing through.

“Always the bridesmaid, ne’er the bride,”
The neighbours all around her cried.
“For though you may well try your best,
Your heart’s desire is heading west.”

But Lily, with great self-deceit,
Decided she could not be beat.
She made arrangements with the priest,
And organised the wedding feast.

She baked a cake and cut the flowers,
While counting down her spinster hours,
And all her friends in celebration,
Booked their trains from Newbridge Station.

But when she got to Dublin town,
Her memory did let her down.
And therefore, so the story goes,
Upon that fateful day she froze.

And when she got down to the church,
Bold Sam had left her in the lurch,
A jilted bride, she wailed and cried,
That Sam was not there at her side.

But he was nowhere to be found,
For he had left that hallowed ground.
And Lily learned that afternoon
That Sam’s new bride had worn maroon.

So Sam went off with the Galway hooker,
And, as for Lily White, well……. f--- her!!