Hartman's seamstress, Hetty, Losing the road to sleep, Then work too, sought death -- To make @3it@1 pay her keep. They bought her a cheap coffin And a bare lot on a hill And a dress she did not have to make, But only to lie in, still. She slept quite well in earth: Never sewing a seam, Never saving a penny, Never having a dream. Even forgetting the lover Who came, and went away, When she was one and twenty: She slept quite well in clay. For Hartman sent flowers, To cover the grave's need; And the priest said he hoped The Lord would pardon her deed. And @3every@1 one was kind -- As Hetty would have said. As everyone is -- To the no-more-needy dead. |