Bury me under the great Oak tree

So, I can dance with the birds and feed their young

then shelter me in fallen leaves for a
hundred years to come

Bury me under the Rowan tree

So, I can breathe in the mountain air

and watch with great mirth the dance of the
mad March Hare

Bury me under the Holly tree

My winter fruit will nourish all

I will decorate your house and home and
your Gods great worshipping hall

Do not bury me in a graveyard amongst the forgotten dead

Where the poem on my gravestone will be worn
and left unsaid