In the confines of the house's backyard there are no marked graves at all to see but an attempt will be made by this bard to relate according to personal memory of some creatures buried therein to be.
Over the course of many years gone by various creatures have been laid to rest in the soil of the yard's ground to comply with an improvised simple funeral blest by a short little prayer to end their quest.
There were a couple of cats it is recalled one of them was within the property born though with the other memory has stalled which is not surprising and hardly forlorn to blame or point at with a finger of scorn.
Then there were also a few local birds mainly sparrows that were regularly fed which flew all around and dropped turds being a little distressing to find any dead some due to after eating crumbs of bread.
They were preyed upon by neighbors' cats and left for dead when they were disturbed in their instinctual appetite that included rats when by humankind were scared and curbed due to their wild nature's feast so perturbed.
Then on occasion also mice would run free which were seen coming through the fence and when at times chased scurried up a tree where they would hurry to get away thence a similar burial applied if found dead hence.
It'd be so incomplete here not to mention all those spiders and insects that had died in some way or other due to a pretension that their annoying habitual nature implied to be poisoned or squashed in their stride.
They have all been buried in the backyard in various places there that are not marked laid to rest in the ground either soft or hard under where others had roamed and barked in the distant past after they were all carked. ____
Our undercroft had housed our dead Unseen, in gloomy sepulture. But pagan chieftains much prefer Barrows, where height can show instead. And the busier departments need Those lowest levels for their work. Glib passers-by avoid that murk, And absent bosses don’t impede. Ensconsed where corpses decomposed, Those in cubicles will thrive, unvexed, And never taken from their desks, They’ll finish the great work imposed. Interrers from a raucous age Buried their kings and queens in mounds. Since robbers filch, and greed abounds, The wise entombed their heritage. Sarcophaguses, then the norm, Are too chilly for a comfy bed. The dawn should kiss those lids of lead, To heat what blankets cannot warm. Rather than burying in hills, Top those barrows with their occupants. These somber monuments enhance What would be dowdy domiciles. Coffins as cenotaphs and plaques, Allow the dead to bask in sun, And feel what veneration’s done. Hilltops make the best catafalques.