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The old gray horse reared up in front,
And then kicked up behind; The old gray man fell off in the mud,
And much distraught in mind.
Said the old gray horse to the old gray man, With a long and horsey smile: " You'll find that seat full soft enough," And he trotted many a mile.
The old gray man walked home that night,
The horse no supper got. They growled no more from thence, I ween,
But lived in peace, I wot.
'Tis pitiful to see a man at life's mid-day, Dead and undone, a lump of pallid helpless clay; He that was strong and brave, and loving, and
alert, Lost to his friends; his heart and hand and art
inert. And over this we weep and sigh and long repine; Above it, build a tomb and plant a mourning
vine. Mayhap, in story he's embalmed to keep him