The Wake Of Molly O’Malley

     With Saint Patrick’s Day just past, I thought we’d have one more with an Irish flair. This one is from last June, and it’s especially  for those of you who were not onboard with us back then. But, I do hope that all of you, will enjoy the read.


She was sent off to heaven with the sound of the pipes.

She was sent off to heaven with the sound of the pipes.

The Wake Of Molly O’Malley

Oh, they say that she died

of a natural cause,

though the chief of police

was given to pause,

when he related the tale

of how she was found,

with wrists locked in shackles

and herself, gagged and bound.


Now some say the cause

be of heart attack,

while some say she died

from the love, that she lacked.

Yet they came and they came

from county and town,

and from every small village

for miles all around.


They came to show their respect

and to raise up a glass,

to Molly O’Malley

one hell of a lass.”

But save for her sister

and one old and dear friend,

the rest of her mourners

appeared to be men.


They drank toasts to her memory

til past the wee hours,

and spoke sadly to the loss

of her mystical powers.

There were judges and defendants

the commoner and the lord,

all tied one together

with she as the cord.


 They spoke of their mistress

their lover, their friend,

whom to a man ailing

would soon set to mend.

Many a poor man

would be put on the cuff,

she could love a man gentle

or love the man rough.


No, her memory to all

would not be subject to taint,

and more than a singleton

had called her a saint.

To Saint Molly O’Malley

the last toast they’d sing,

as the bells for her service

would then start to ring.


Her body was dressed

in a gown of pure white,

more fitting her wedding

than a funereal rite.

Her face had been made-up

and the job, good and fair,

and brushed for great length

her shining red hair.


Thus, Molly O’Malley

would be laid to her rest,

looking quite fetching

arms crossed at her breast.

No more to be opened

for comfort and ease,

to wrap warm around them

with a “how may I please?”


Still there a question

left to remain,

who there among them

had left her in chains?

 Who bore the black stain

upon heart, upon soul,

who had seen her in torment

and did naught to console?


Who had left her to die

exposed and alone,

damned be the one

whose name be unknown.

Though Molly’s not here

his name for to tell,

may the devil himself

greet him in hell!


 Jack Downing

June 2012

 Copyright© Jack Downing, aka Jake All rights reserved. Contents may not be reprinted or disseminated in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author. JRD 3/19/13


About poemsandponderings

Hearth and Health are wonderful things and if you're without either such sorrow that brings So I cannot express enough thanks to my Lord and to my family and friends for the support you afford! ~Jack Downing~
This entry was posted in beer, brothel, demise, Flowers, Irish descent, men, old days, rum, Spirits, whiskey and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The Wake Of Molly O’Malley

  1. Beth Ann says:

    I actually remember Molly O’Malley and her sad fate—surrounded by men at the end but too late.


  2. Sally says:

    Witty I am not, but, this poem I remember…Wonderful as always!!

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