Mabel Jubb was a mystic, a deep thinker

She read philosophy, was often miles away

Her house was stacked with learned tomes

That she cherished and revelled in every day

 

Poor Mabel she was full of good intentions

She signed petitions and gave to the poor

But the lockdown became too much for her

The coastguard found her clothes along the shore

 

She'd never married that was the trouble

No husband to love her so books took his place

Loneliness is like an infection, a virus

Her neighbours said she was a basket case

 

They found Mabel's diaries, a catalogue of pain

Physical suffering is one thing, the mind another

Her head couldn't cope with the extra anxiety

There was just me at the funeral and I was her brother