Watches his garden

His nursery of green

Keeps all unwound

And succinctly clean

Snap! Go his shears

Sqealch! Go his boots

Fond! Go his eyes

He tends to the roots

Bundles like babies

When the snow falls

Keep them from Hades

Till they grow tall

He puts down the shovel

And picks up his scythe

Corpses in bundles

All set to bite

The fields of the battle

Sit gently untouched

Till he grows hungry

And must raise new lunch