The Gravedigger Poem by Phil Soar

He spends all his days, putting people away
In the ground, there have been many treasures
But he just digs the hole, for your out of date soul
And it's one of his jobs hidden treasures

He has interred the lot, form the aged to a tot
And his eyes have seen many pass by
In his hands there's a spade, just the tool of his trade
And he's not found a reason to cry

All the effort and pride, that has stayed by his side
Has meant all of his graves have been neat
He developed an art, for those who depart
That makes them feel they live on the street

An avenue of homes, now just holding their bones
And he knows that they'll not move away
They will be kempt with love, and thank heaven above
For the job that he does every day