So I go down the broken street,
With no eager haste in my feet
And a heart that's feeling wary4,
To the curs\u00e9d cemetery
Where I no longer go to mourn
The rotting wife from me torn
By death's cold and unyielding hand,
Which destroys all that one has planned.
And as I reach the iron gate,
Whose cherub5 has a rusted pate6,
My mocking mind says, "You're too late
To stop the thieves who desecrate."
Granite leans, and angels sag;7
My apprehensive feet I drag
To the corner where lies a hole
And where recently lay a soul\u2014
Lifeless, in supine position,8
Waiting in decomposition.
How could this stench not have debunked9
The desire to stir the defunct10?
Strewn in the grass the dew did wet.
Is this the hair I once did pet?
Ants bustle off with gobs of flesh.
Was this the skin I did caress?
But peering into the abyss
That seemed her company to miss,
Only darkness could I there find,
As would her eyes by death now blind.
I pick up a casket splinter\u2014
Part of the one she did enter?\u2014
And I wonder how this could be.
What could provoke such barbary?12
Where lies the corpse that I've interred13
Where worms and maggots oft have fared14?
What hideous fiend would disturb
The sanctity of this suburb
Where souls reside far from the work
And toils the living'd love to shirk15,
Except it be not by this end,
The path to which never does wend16,
But goes straightly and steeply down
Some six long feet beneath the ground,
Where the living, gasping for air,
Would scarcely seem to have a prayer
Of managing a prison break
If buried alive by mistake?
Oh, how I did want to vomit
The police knew not who were the blokes;
The only witnesses were oaks.
Since there was naught that I could do,
To my home I speedily flew,
Thinking that there I could bathe,
While my mind spun 'round like a lathe17.
And in my haste I never saw
The rotten meat that worms did gnaw
Scattered like jetsam18 on the way.
My mind was dark; the skies were gray.
The grimy knob I ne'er noted,
Thinking of the dead and bloated,
Until a pungent odor rose
Up to meet my pitiful nose.
Egad! Surely this could not be.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
But dirty footprints marked the path
Through the kitchen and past the bath.
Toward my bedroom the prints head,
And there lying upon my bed
Was a vision that did me chill,
For 'twas my bride that time did kill.
Surely she could not be alive,
For my lonely years have been five.
Yet lying there in her own goo
While aqueous humour19 seeped through,
She fixed me with a steely stare
That seemed to take away my air.
Though missing several of her locks,
She still retained her vocal box,
For I would swear I heard her say,
"My darling, why did you betray?
What is this thing that you have done
To anger your long\u00adsleeping one?"
My mind must have started to fray20.
This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?