The Widows of Longville

There are four widows on my street;
I fear them when they daily meet
To chat about 'who might be next.'
My cry for help ? I send a text.

Their men expired without a fuss,
Back when our street was known as 'Us'.
Those couples seemed so nicely matched !
But now each dame's alone - detached.

Old Johnson's heart was poorly wired,
And Baker ? Well, he just got tired.
MacGregor's lungs filled with 'Big C',
And Pollard's tractor hit a tree.

And me ? Good health, but can't be smug ;
My dame may find some poison drug !
Then join the four for daily chats,
While we dead boys feed graveyard rats.