(_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!"
(+Nursery Memories+)