(This happened in Uranium City, Canada)

The Reverend Doug was a long, lean lad.

When he took to his task in the North.

And when called upon, he was always glad

To respond, and to sally forth.

A strange sort of land it was, where he’d gone;

With the heat as intense as the cold:

Where through hope and despair the searching went on

For Uranium, Fur and Gold;

Where a mid-winter night or a mid-summer day

Could be twenty-four hours long;

Where sometimes a rascal would learn how to pray,

While many a good one went wrong.

Now, at 60 below the ground was so hard

‘Twas no use to try digging at all;

So they guessed what they’d need in the cemet’ry yard,

And then dug a few graves in the Fall.

They were carefully planked, and marked on a map.

Then, though covered with metres of snow,

When someone began his perpetual nap,

They could find where the body should go.

They located the grave one bitter cold day;

The service was going all right.

But the Reverend Doug had just finished his say

When he disappeared clean out of sight!

With a gasp of surprise they all stared where he’d been,

At the hole in the new-fallen snow --

When sudden the top of his head could be seen,

Coming up from the grave-floor below!

They’d forgotten the planks on the grave just behind;

But the drifting snow gave it a cap.

And I think you’ll agree that Nature designed

A most excellent “Clergyman Trap”!