*Illustration reference:
"Grave-Digger" (1871)
by Viktor Vasnetsov (1848–1926)
Ol’ Thomas T. Taylor, he was a gravedigger
He dug them graves small, and if needed, some bigger
He worked for the church, as an all around hand
He tidied the narthex and all enclosed land
His most prized possession, a wrought iron spade
He kept close his side, as was special hand-made
Though often these tools, well, they never did last
The rough rocky ground, it could wear ‘em down fast
But the soft crumbling earth of the town cemetery
Was much like a cake, when he dug, light and airy
He treasured his job like he treasured that spade
Respectful of task, and the people he laid
He stood, hat removed, in esteem of last rites
At times of great need, he was sturdy and right
Over decades and decades Ol’ Thomas dug deep
And he never complained of the kinfolk he’d keep
But still came the day when that spade and he broke
He lay in his bed till the last words he e’re spoke
“I leave this fair earth, with it ground in me nails
I take it with me, as to Heaven I sail
Bury me where I kept lush the green glade
On side please you’ll place my beloved iron spade…”
So the townsfolk, his wishes, did best to comply
They dressed him quite fine and placed there by his side
Beloved wrought spade, that was shined just like new
And many kind hands dug his grave in the dew
And just as he’d treated the dead with such grace
The townsfolk did honour Ol’ Tom’s resting place
A stone of white granite, they made sure was bigger
And under his name, etched “Most Hallowed Gravedigger”
Comments