We have no place to bury her
no grave to lay her in.
So bluster all you wish, good sir,
there’s no spot you can win.
Yet please, I beg, some little plot.
She was so small in life.
Some place, surely, within this lot
would fit my little wife.
I’m sure, but all are occupied.
These have been busy days,
for nearly all the town has died
within a fevered haze.
I know, and how I wish I was
aflame with that disease,
not just to join her, but because
then on you I would sneeze.
Tale Told 