A little poem for Hallowe’en.
By ROBERT S. CARR
I’m the one who gets you all,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Lean ones, fat ones, short or tall,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Rich and poor I lay you deep
Where the grave-worms writhe and creep
In the cold earth’s oozy seep,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Coffin-lids are bright and new,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Mausoleums mighty few,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Hear the wet clods tumble down,
Preacher, thief or circus clown,
Tattered rags or ermine gown,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Far away from mortal woes,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Maggots nibble at your toes,
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Born to die—a monstrous jest!—
Sordid four-score years at best,
Then you’re rotting with the rest.
Ho! I swing my shovel!
Games From Folktales 