The Burial

The sky was dark, it was overcast

When the hearse rolled into town,

The people stopped in its passing,

And stood, with their eyes cast down,

Four black, high stepping, friesian mares

Stepped proud, ahead of the hearse,

While a man was following close behind

But sat on his horse, reversed.

 

His wrists were bound with a length of twine

Were tethered behind his back,

His eyes were well blindfolded,

Under his black top hat,

His leather boots had glistened and shone

And they rode right up to the knee,

There was something about his stately mien

That said, ‘Aristocracy’.

 

The horses were decked with ostrich plumes

Fine harness and plaited tails,

The coach shellacked in a shiny black

And fitted with silver rails,

The coffin lay on a satin tray

In the hearse, was covered in lace,

Inscribed with scrolls from the honour rolls

Of a noble house, disgraced.

 

And far at the rear of the slow cortege

Was a line of women in black,

Carrying jewellery fashioned in jet

As black as the coach shellac.

There wasn’t a tear amongst them all

Nor a smile for the ruined man,

The blindfold merciful, like a pall

In front of his ruined clan.

 

The hearse rolled into the cemetery

And stopped by the gallows tree,

A footman took off his blindfold then,

‘I hope that’s not meant for me!’

They dragged the coffin out of the hearse

And the man looked once, then twice,

‘I’m not your common old peasant, sir,

I’m the Lord of Mecklen Weiss.’

 

They dragged him bodily off his horse

And lifted the coffin lid,

‘You’re the Lord of six square feet of earth,

And the Lord of all you did!’

They thrust him into the coffin then

Encased his struggling form,

‘He’ll have some time to consider now

It were best he’d never been born!’

 

They lowered the coffin into the ground

To the sound of shrieks and cries,

But not one woman who watched it fall

Had a need to dry her eyes.

They say that some heard muffled cries

At that grave for a week or more,

But then, the peasantry always lies

For they hold the Lords in awe.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Barbz]

Carried to his living death, in lavish fashion, then, and blinded by not only fears, but thoughts of why and when. Obviously of former gentry, his garb confirmed that fact, the man of lavish means and many a heinous act.Those who viewed the carriage, equines who drew it too, and seven woman, tho tarnished , she'd not a tear or two. Sir, David, when I read your rhyme, I speak another language....It happens all the time......Thank You for this Gift!!

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Wonderfully excellent as always, David.

[Marie]

Terrible--I wonder what he could have done to be buried alive? Perhaps he'd wronged all those woman who never shed a tear for him. If so, he deserved his fate.

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A most fitting end really when all is said and done good read

[R Smith]

oh that's a nasty end even for someone who's done his worse, more from your gift of writing David, i'm wondering how you do it, it truly amazes me, thanks for the great stories/poems :)

[Bright Ocean Star]

David, you weave a wicked tale most rhymed intone. It is distressing for The Lord....who was buried alive alone! He-he....I am like Barbz below. Reading your poems leaves me speaking and thinking in similar rhythm....

[Valentine]

Just what did the lord do to all of these women dressed in black that he received such a punishment. Come on David, give us the rest of this tale. Kathie

[David Lewis Paget]

That's just the point, Kathie. You are not told. It gives the reader something to wrestle with in the small dark hours of sleeplessness, lol.

[MomzillaNC]

A horrific punishment… but for what crimes?