At least, so the neighbors aver.
They laid him away in the churchyard to rest
And with grief that they sought not to hide,
They placed the old battered B-B on his breast
And that Christmas hymn score by his side—
His pride,
‘Twas the tune that he played when he died.
Now, who here denies
That far in the skies
He is probably calmly and placidly winging;