D. O'Dell
Here he lies on hallowed ground.Saintly man. Heaven bound.
Eyes are shut and he's reclined.
Dressed his best and so refined.
No longer will he do his job
Who is it who'll get the nod?
Passing here within his hovel,
who will now pick up his shovel?
It was he, the one in town,
who dressed us up and put us down.
So here we are, we'll find another.
Perhaps t'will be his younger brother,
dress in black with stiff necked collar;
he'll serve us well in Sleepy Holler.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.