He must have been nervous waiting at the church.
She'd got through two husbands already:
the first stabbed himself with his pitchfork,
a careless yet difficult achievement;
the second, they say, dived from the crow's nest
to rescue a sailor overboard,
but misjudged it and hit the deck -
unusual for a lookout to leave his post.
Fell, jumped or pushed, he left her
once more widowed,
and Daniel, nervously, number three,
odds on for a suspicious end...

although he died in bed at 90,
presumably just good enough
for her very demanding family.

Wild Bill Balding

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jane-1873/