(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!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 13 by JAMES JOYCE THE CHANGED WOMAN by LOUISE BOGAN LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU AQUATINT FRAMED IN GOLD by AMY LOWELL |