The Cemetery Mole Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Up above, I hear it, the mourner's cracking heart
Down the long dark corridor, the black roots splay
I am the dead one's servant, I ease the earth apart

For ages past, we've used them, my people small and swart
The tunnels in the cemetery, beyond the shine of day
My human guest I welcome, my ministries impart

The wheels have started turning, the body's own death cart
But I will treat it kindly, compassion is my way
To creatures of the underworld, death is the final art