Pretty Little Graveyard
Pretty little graveyard,
How all your headstones gleam!
How delicate and marvelous
Your mausoleums seem!
It’s sweet and quaint and dainty,
The peaceful way you lie
Filled up with rotten corpses,
The way the flowers grew in shade,
I knew at once that one fine day
They’d make a funeral bouquet
All prearranged, as though pre-made
By funeral mutes in plumed top hats
And wearing bombazine black sashes,
Their pearly skin as pale as ashes,
Accompanied by coal-black cats
Between the funeral-wreathed front doors,
Their carriage drawn by sleek black steeds,
With passengers in widows’ weeds
As fitting as the hellebores’.