English Ned, with a hole in his head,
Staring up at the skies.
"The engine driver swore, as often he swore before:
'I whistled him back from the flamin' track,
And I couldn't do no more!'
"The ganger spoke through the 'phone: 'Platelayer seventy-one
Got killed to-day on the six-foot way
By a goods on the city run.
"'English Ned is his name, no one knows whence he came;
He didn't take mind of the road behind,