Poem: Cemetery Hill

Cemetery Hill, that's where I work.
I put dead folks down in the dirt.
I bury mommies, daddies, girls and boys.
When they're dead they don't make noise.
Only sometimes, I make a mistake
and they're not dead, just not awake.
I guess then they make some sound
but I can't hear 'em through the ground.
So, dead or alive, screaming or still,
it's quiet up on Cemetery Hill.