The procession followed Virgo’s time
That began on a sixth day
Ending now with words to say;
The good padre spoke in rhyme
Against the beast and the sixth sense
That fended off any hex that cursed its way
Along hexagon walls that kept its stay
With insects and seraphs in winding suspense.
The six by six cortege proceeded the casket
Each separated by six degrees
And stood in bowed form during the final decrees:
That it be laid six feet under wrapped in a devil’s basket.
Six shovels poured the ground
Upon the black hole to seal out all false fay
And to muffle in the fiend’s bray;
A marker, etched with three sixes,
staked to the mound.
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