There lies a man who just has died
And for a few the bustle stops
And though their pains be multiplied
The world goes round again.
Do you see the casket?
Are there berries in your basket?
Can you go on living?
With picnics in the countryside?
“But I must go and make arrangements,”
said the sister of the brother
Lying in the casket under
The heavy pale of aching grief.
“Could you not just let another
make arrangements for your brother?”
said the friend soft to the sister
And so the world turned round again.
Always driving people striving
Hoping that they might be thriving
Meanwhile sisters make arrangements
For their brothers who have died.
Light falls soft in cemeteries
And people go on picking berries
While their brothers lie in caskets
And the world turns round again.