'A Man Named Digger' Poem by Linda Winchell

He was a very tall man, and thin of bone!
This man we called Digger, who owned a funeral home!
All dressed in black, from head, to his toes!
Long greasy black hair, and a long pointed sharp nose!

Carrying a shovel in one hand
as he slowly, would walk down the street!
Was he looking for new customers?
To place beneath, green of earths peat?

He tipped his tall black hat, he had perched on his head
as he had witnessed, my most evident nervous smile!
'Where is it your going, sweet little dear girl? '
and 'Might I walk with you for awhile? '

My mouth turned all dry, I could hardly even say!
'Sure Mr. Digger, but you don't need, go out of your way! '
'No inconvience, but thanks for that thought! '
'Just bought this new shovel, now I need to be, shoveling off! '

I thought him so funny, I started to, uncontrollably laugh!
Then Mr. Digger turned heel, and I dared not look back!
Strange kinda fella, with odd profession and such!
I wonder if he's happy? Never seen him smiling a touch?

I guess if your profession, deals with mostly the dead!
You would have to be kind, maybe sometimes even misread?
I finally got up the nerve, to turn and look back!
And there was Mr. Digger! Standing with his shovel, right at my back!

'I just wanted to thank you, sweet girl
for laughing, at what I had said! '
Everyone else is afraid, because I deal with the dead!
Takes the innocence of youth, to shine that light of God!
Even if they're afraid and might think me, a little bit odd!