POETRY: A BALLAD OF BURIAL BY RUDYARD KIPLING
If down here I chance to die, Solemnly I beg you take All that is left of "I" To the Hills for old sake's sake, Pack me very thoroughly In the ice that used to slake Pegs I drank when I was dry -- This observe for old sake's sake. To the railway station hie, There a single ticket take For Umballa -- goods-train -- I Shall not mind delay or shake. I shall rest contentedly Spite of clamor coolies make; Thus in state and dignity Send me up for old sake's sake. Next the sleepy Babu wake, Book a Kalka van "for four." Few, I think, will care to make Journeys with me any more As they used to do of yore. I shall need a "special" break -- Thing I never took before -- Get me one for old sake's sake. After that -- arrangements make. No hotel will take me in, And a bullock's back would break 'Neath the teak and leaden skin Tonga ropes are frail and thin, Or, did I a back-sea