  (The first corpse I saw was on the German wires, and couldn't be buried) The whole field was so smelly; We smelt the poor dog first: His horrid swollen belly Looked just like going burst. His fur was most untidy; He hadn't any eyes. It happened on Good Friday And there was lots of flies. And then I felt the coldest I'd ever felt, and sick, But Rose, 'cause she's the oldest, Dared poke him with her stick. He felt quite soft and horrid: The flies buzzed round his head And settled on his forehead: Rose whispered: "That dog's dead. "You bury all dead people, When they're quite really dead, Round churches with a steeple: Let's bury this," Rose said. "And let's put mint all round it To hide the nasty smell." I went to look and found it— Lots, growing near the well. We poked him through the clover Into a hole, and then We threw brown earth right over And said: "Poor dog, Amen!" |
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