O to the bells that toll at heavens gate ,
which tell me now am I too late ?

Yet here am I on this mortal slab I lay ,
with  just my bell to ring to pass the day .

They come to  poke and bellow and stare ,
yet they cannot see if I am there ??

‘ Is he dead ?
O for pity’s sake we hung him once at Tyburns gate ,
they pulled his legs to hasten the blow ,
and waited there untill his legs turned cold ,
an ode to be such a happy soul !


And so I wait with bated breath no prods or wails now ,
it must be said ,
for at last now they think I am dead .
Hung by a noose ,
a darning thread ,
the thrill of the crowds roar ,
alas they are no more .
But  I still have this bell to ring
at the end of my bed,
just in case they think I am dead !
With the scent of fungi and truffles
all around on this bed can be found,
with my bell to ring when ever you are near ,
to catch the wind ,
now come hither my dear .