Dirge for Mil XXIV
Hark, now! List to yon toll of that iron bell?
Doesth thou know what it be saying?
Its iron throat gives voice that Goodman Mil
Is past the point of human hand saving!
Alas, alas. I knew Mil quite well, my friend,
And his kith and kin afore him!
T'will be marker number twenty-four I ween,
And pray God there be nay more of them!
From Mil the first to Mil the twenty-third—
They lie there, all in a row.
My father's father's father's great-grandfather buried the first,
I must consign this last one to Mother Earth.
Ah, poor lad—he never married:
So there'll be no Mil twenty-five to carry!
Pendragon


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