Lonely.
Reading edition
One day Nicodemus lay down and died, And his good little wifey cried and cried. A few days after he was laid away Under the sod—deep down in the clay. The days were so long, how lonely was she, For he died in the autumn; not a green tree; She took out his clothes and brushed them so neat, And patched his pants right over the seat. Then she called in a neighbor, and opened the door, And showed her the clothes Nicodemus “had wore; And his poor old socks she broidered in brown;” Such a good man was he—they weeping sat down. When he was alive, I had so much to do, The days were so short I never got through; And when I get lonely, perhaps I have missed To put on a button or a patch I have kissed.