When Joshua Peabody drives to town

His route is always the same:

Comes in by the Peabody turnpike road,

Named for his family's name,

Waters his horse at the watering trough,

And drives to the village store,

Buys what he bought last time he came,

Not one bit less or more;

Goes to the post office after mail,

There's never any there)

And then to his brother Arthur's house

Just outside of the square;

Passes a word and the time of day,

Then jerks his horses rein,

Goes out by the Peabody turnpike road,

And so back home again.

But just outside of the village line

Is the village burying-ground,

And there he stops, goes in, and kneels

Near a little grassy mound,

And places some flowers he brought from home

Near the headstone standing there,

And then his tired old trembling lips

Move in a silent prayer

For the wife who died twelve years ago,

All that he loved on earth;

When heavily goes where the buggy waits,

Tightens the harness girth,

And drives on home to his lonely house,

Little and quiet and brown,

And lives on slowly through the days

Till next he comes to town.