Poetry Archives

Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
“What the devil have you there?
I may trot from court to square,
Yet it neither swears nor groans,
When I jolt it over stones.”
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
“Bones!”

Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
“What the devil have you there,
With that purple frozen stare?
Where the devil has it been
To get that shadow grin?”
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
“Skin!”

Said the hearse-horse to the coffin,
“What the devil have you there?
It has fingers, it has hair;
Yet it neither kicks nor squirms
At the undertaker’s terms.”
Said the coffin to the hearse-horse,
“Worms!”