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The Old Gravedigger

With measured shovelsful of sod The old man slowly labors, Making sure as not to trod On nearby sleeping neighbors. One shovel deep and one pick wide, Graves neatly set in rows. Perfection so this soul who died May rest in sweet repose. The old man never slows his pace His reaper soon made grim, For he knows the one who takes his place Soon digs his grave for him.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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