Three Graves

Dig a grave both deep and wide

Spade-cleave the wintered bog,

Inter his swaddled form inside

Breathe again as fog.


Dig another grave this time

Less wide but equal deep;

Melt Her quick with garnish of lyme,

Rent the spent sun seeps.


Dig one last grave, you man

By the measures of your eye;

A hole bespoke for my bulk’s span

To input me when I die.

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