The Tombstone-Maker by Siegfried Sassoon
He primmed his loose red mouth and leaned his head
Against a sorrowing angelâ€™s breast, and said:
â€˜Youâ€™d think so much bereavement would have made
â€˜Unusual big demands upon my trade.
â€˜The War comes cruel hard on some poor folk;
â€˜Unless the fighting stops Iâ€™ll soon be broke.â€™
He eyed the Cemetery across the road.
â€˜Thereâ€™s scores of bodies out abroad, this while,
â€˜That should be here by rights. They little knowâ€™d
â€˜How theyâ€™d get buried in such wretched style.â€™
I told him with a sympathetic grin,
That Germans boil dead soldiers down for fat;
And he was horrified. â€˜What shameful sin!
â€˜O sir, that Christian souls should come to that!â€™