The undertaker sang to himself as he shoveled dirt over the grave of the old sailor. “Ragged, tattered, nothing mattered. Thought of little, bones were brittle. Ere the dawn, my soul was gone.” Hmm. Where DID he pick that rhyme up from? Oh well. Must have been the local pub. He kept singing. “O’er the waves and through the Sea, did my love call to me. The words that whispered in my ear; for only I was to hear. The songs of life-the songs of death- dancing softly on my breath. I told all, I told none. There were many, there was one. The words I spoke; the song I sung. The words are gone, my song is done.” As he finished the verse, the digger felt a cold breeze across his shoulders. His song seemed to linger in the wind. He stopped digging, and listened. “The words are gone…The song is done…Words are gone…Song is done…I did all was asked of me…Now the rest…Is up to thee…” The gravedigger shivered, but returned to his song. “A new tale is told, a new song is sung. Passed like a father to a son.”