(The first corpse I saw was on the German wires, and couldn't be buried) The whole field was so smelly; We smelt the poor dog first: His horrid swollen belly Looked just like going burst. His fur was most untidy; He hadn't any eyes. It happened on Good Friday And there was lots of flies. And then I felt the coldest I'd ever felt, and sick, But Rose, 'cause she's the oldest, Dared poke him with her stick. He felt quite soft and horrid: The flies buzzed round his head And settled on his forehead: Rose whispered: 'That dog's dead. 'You bury all dead people, When they're quite really dead, Round churches with a steeple: Let's bury this,' Rose said. 'And let's put mint all round it To hide the nasty smell.' I went to look and found it -- Lots, growing near the well. We poked him through the clover Into a hole, and then We threw brown earth right over And said: 'Poor dog, Amen!' |