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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408785" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Briny Grave</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">You wonder why so many would be buried in the sea,<br>In this world of froth and bubble,<br>But I don’t wonder, for it seems to me<br>That it saves such a lot of trouble.<br>And there ain’t no undertaker—<br>Oh! there ain’t no order that your friends can give<br>On the quiet to the coffin-maker—<br>To a gimcrack coffin-maker,<br>They make no differ twixt the absentee swell<br>And the clerk that cut from a “shortage”—<br>Oh! there ain’t no pauper funer-el,<br>And there ain’t no “impressive cortege.”<br>It may be a chap from the for’ard crowd,<br>Or a member of the British Peerage,<br>But they sew his nibs in a canvas shroud<br>Just the same as the bloke from the steerage—<br>As that poor bloke from the steerage. <br>There ain’t no need for a gravedigger there,<br>For you dig your own grave! Lord love yer!<br>And there ain’t no use for a headstone fair<br>When the waters close above yer!<br>The little headstone where they come to weep,<br>May be right for the land’s dry-rotters,<br>But you rest just as sound when you’re anchored deep<br>With the pigiron at your trotters—<br>(Our fathers had iron at their trotters).<br>The sea is democratic the wide world round,<br>And it don’t give a hang for no man,<br>There ain’t no Church of England burial ground,<br>Nor yet there ain’t no Roman.<br>Orthodox and het’rodox by wreck-strewn cliffs,<br>At peace in the stormiest weather,<br>Might bob up and down like two brother “stiffs,”<br>And rest in one shark together—<br>And mix up their bones together. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bare-headed skipper is as good any day<br>As an authorised shifter of sin is,<br>And the tear of shipmate is better anyway<br>Than the tear of the next-of-kin is.<br>It saves your friends, and it fills your needs,<br>It is best when all is reckoned,<br>And she can’t come there in her widder weeds,<br>With her eyes on a likely second—<br>And a spot for the likely second.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408785" data-title="The Briny Grave de Henry Lawson" data-description="You wonder why so many would be buried in the sea,
In this world of froth and bubble,
But I don’t wonder, for it seems to me
That it saves such a lot of trouble.
And there ain’t no undertaker—
Oh! there ain’t no order that your friends can..."></div>
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