''Whose Corpse This Is I Think I Know''
Whose corpse this is I think I know.
Its grave is in the churchyard, though;
It will not see us stopping here
To hear its ghost cry out in woe.
My little boy must think it's *****
To stop without a graveyard near
Between the woods and frozen lake
Whereat the corpse's upon its bier.
He gives my hand a wrenching shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other soul's the shade
Of coming Death for his end's sake .
The corpse is grisly, foul, and decayed,
But I have Death to then dissuade,
And pleas to make because I'm afraid,
And pleas to make because I'm afraid.
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