And returned with herbs that I got.

At me he ne’er looked e’en once
And I too didn’t care much.
What would I get in finding out
He was so and so, such and such?

Sometimes he’d stand upon the grave
Which he no doubt looked after.
There was never a soul anyway near,
No serious word nor laughter.

Years after, that day I thought I’d ask
Who lay buried there under.
I therefore walked right up to him
And made that silly blunder.

I stood near him and then I asked,
Whose grave it was before me.
He vanished soon as I could blink;
Nothing of him I could see.

I looked around but little found
A trace of him anywhere.
His image in my mind I saw,
But clearly he was not there. 

Now when I pass that grave each morn.
My eyes I strain to spot him.
But he is never ever there
I walk with his image grim.