What task is this that so unnerves me now? <br />When pity should be dead, and has been dead. <br />Unloose that sheet from round the pierced brow; <br />What matter blood is seen, for blood is red, <br />And red’s the colour of the clammy earth. <br />Be not so solemn,-There’s no need to pray; <br />But, rather smile, - yea, laugh! If pure, thy mirth <br />Is right. He laughed himself but yesterday. <br />That pay-book? Take it from him. Ours a debt <br />No gold can ever pay. That cross of wood <br />About his neck? That must remain, and yet <br />He needs it no, because his heart was good. <br />We’ll house him ‘neath those broken shrubs; dig deep. <br />He’s tired. God knows, and needs a little sleep.<br /><br />Leon Gellert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-burial-in-memory-of-w-l-e/
