THE TOMBSTONE-MAKER

He primmed his loose red mouth, and leaned his head

Against a sorrowing angel's breast, and said:

“You'd think so much bereavement would have made

Unusual big demands upon my trade.

The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk —

Unless the fighting, stops I'll soon be broke.”

He eyed the Cemetery across the road —

“There's scores of bodies out abroad, this while,

That should be here by rights; they little know'd

How they'd get buried in such wretched style.”

I told him, with a sympathetic grin,

That Germans boil dead soldiers down for fat;

And he was horrified. “What shameful sin!

O sir, that Christian men should come to that!”