Cemetery Blues

Where blue apples are growing,
Brown apparel is shrouded.
And there's shrubbery for a mile swelling,
With sinister graves divided.

Being shrewd with sacred earth,
Supreme wealth to manifest.
Having shrewdness that brings worth,
And opulent tombs blessed.

Here in shrubbiest part of town,
To seek peace shriven by fey.
If holiest clergyman will not meltdown,
But exert his clout all the way.

Where rainbows fade after rain;
And the sun shines over flats.
Shrivelling fields of coral-bells that remain,
Then will dawn darkest mass.

Shrubby thorn-bushes are burning,
They spell peril for the sleepers.
Superstitious elders know it's concerning,
To have ghost and vile creepers.

At the cemetery blues overlain,
Shrieks there a grisly ghoul.
None could shrug off the frightful bane,
That shrew lethal and cruel.

Once alive now dead as rubble,
They were outright shredded,
As put through a hellish struggle,
The shredder it was dreaded.

Shrublike hordes are emanating,
They're shrewder than witches.
Arriving on a shrimper before drowning,
Every shrimp a waste in ditches.

There is a solid shrinkage there,
A thousand casualties is likely.
Folk saw the corpses shrivel in despair;
They were grasping for air idly.

To seek a longer shrift for them,  
Not something that could be.
This cemetery is an overgrown slum,
Without a shrine or easy tree.