It was a sunny afternoon
At story-telling time.
Old Kaspar clipped a fresh cigar
and poured his rum-and-lime,
While Peterkin and Wilhelmine
Looked at the futurama screen.
They saw a monstrous marble tomb
Beyond a shaded square,
And groups of shabby, pallid men
Who stood in silence there;
While men in sandwich boards rehearsed
A picket line with signs reversed.
The little children cried.
"It is the tomb of Gus the Great,"
Old Kaspar soon replied.
"His union members gladly bought
A noble tomb to mark the spot."
"How old was he," asked Wilhelmine,
"And just what made him die?"
"Death came upon him in his prime,"
Said Kaspar with a sigh.
"A hungry worker ran amuck
And pushed him underneath a truck."
"Then why do people call him Great?"
Asked little Peterkin.
"He organized the General Strike;
And when the count was in,
He’d killed more jobs in one short year
Than all the Great Depressions, dear."