She lived in a wild, lonely place
Beside a river's source.
She didn't often show her face
And no-one rode her horse.
A primrose in a grassy bank,
Very rarely seen,
I fancied her, if I am frank,
Though she was pretty green.
Not many people know that she
Existed. When she died
She was buried. As for me,
I cried and cried and cried.