Here lie the remains of Fred Emerson Brooks,
A poet, as everyone knew by his looks
Who hadn’t, unluckily, met with his books.
On civic occasions he sprang to the fore
With poems consisting of stanzas three score.
The men whom they deafened enjoyed them the more.
In this peaceful spot, so the grave-diggers say,
With pen, ink and paper they laid him away—
The Poet-elect of the Judgment Day.