“Krunch, Krunch?” the ground boys yelled, hollered, his eyes rolled all round
“Nevermore,” the doctors said “will he think or drink or wink or sit or spit, Nevermore….”
So it goes and goes
Captain Curtis Krunch would be dead, dead by four
As the doc had indented, all Krunch could say, ask, exclamate, “Nevermore?” “Nevermore!”
“Yes,” said the nurse as he became younger, younger like a baby, new, with no lore

Krunch, always a tidy, small man, out on the mighty trenches
Hit in the head, didn’t feel a thing, no blood, only dropping to the floor
At the exact moment, Krunch, his mother, his father, all gone, all died together, same second
So it goes, goes till perhaps they meet once more
The family tree dead forever more
All once the clock struck four