Graves, Worms, & Epitaphs
So you’re the new lad come to join me
Digging graves for young and old ?
I’ve started one if you’d like to see,
Though a hole is not much to behold.
But still, you’ve joined an honest trade –
Now don’t stand gawping, grab a spade !
Yes, yes, I’ve heard the rumours too –
When nobles die, the mill grinds fast.
Poor lass, but that’s so often true –
We only meet then at the last.
They’ll bring her soon from out the kirk
To rest within our handiwork.
At least her grave’s beneath a willow –
Hope her shade enjoys the shade.
She has a headstone for a pillow –
Let her sleep, no more afraid.
I’ve heard it said, since days of yore,
All willows weep in Elsinore.
But as for those she leaves behind,
I sense a civil war is brewing.
Keep your head down, deaf and blind,
Don’t worry what those lords are doing.
The kings may change, but we’re still here,
Digging trenches year on year.
We chafe our hands and break our backs
Because a serf is born to toil.
So when a king demands his tax,
We dig his nation’s precious soil.
And if another claims his throne,
He gets to lie in here, alone.
Well, I’d say that we’re nearly done.
So climb on out and take a breath.
Then time to dig another one –
There’s never any break from death.
And if we’re heading for a war,
Then we’ll be needing plenty more…
Rhyming Couplets 