When I took your name
You gave me vows which didn’t quite hit the mark

I expected for better, much better
And in very good health, like fit and hot
And to be rich, really rich
And cherished every hour of the day

And I bet your going to live until your 100

So, out of respect
I’m off
X

They left it in lines of freshly cut hay
The workmen, over the playing fields today

Some love the smell as it floats in the air
The dogs nose right through it but there is nothing there

In some in brings tears to the eyes and gentle sneeze
A cough or a croak or a chesty wheeze  

I love the smell of freshly cut grass

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

The poppies have bloomed, but now their dead
They'll come back next year, Mum said
Their petals have fallen on a rose buds head
The stamen is the male reproductive *****, Mum said
"Yuck"! I'm nearly ready for bed

Rose buds are filling and ready to bloom
Mum said, not ready yet, but will be soon
Why is there thorns on that long green?--Stem
Mum said, so nothing can damage them

I said, Mum, how can there be so much happiness in such a small space
When I grow up I'll be a big poppy, so full of grace
Or a bee on the grid, in a big bee race

Mum looked at me and shrugged, and here's what she said
I do believe darling, it's time for your bed

We rode in on white shire horses, maybe a few days late
Buried in surf where we lay, twas a poet’s fate

On a leisurely journey we caught a big squall
Now I’m singing my words in the great poet’s hall

Your pilgrimage is touching, your journey not at an end
I see my sonnets and stanzas have become your best friend

Read to me lovingly on the surf now covered with sand
We’ll walk barefooted, together, cradled, hand in hand

My words on your lips, will at last set me free
Please read them aloud, as I ebb back out to sea

Alla prossima, I’ll be waiting! if I’m just out of reach?
Speak my words as your walking on Via Reggio beach

Four men stood carrying, one man who was dead
And laid him to rest with his friends, in a shed

A nurse sat weeping, her hands on her head
For the living she mourned, no time for the dead

A man ran out of HQ, stumbled, fell over
He smiled, then shouted, the war is over

The nurse stood and waved, and grabbed the man
The four men ran cheering, and heartily sang

There was silence, not a sound from inside the shed
They once had their lives, now they are our dead

The wars, the suffering, we all deeply regret
Their memories are now yours, less you forget

Have you noticed the sound of the trees
when the wind blows through the leaves?
The road with no cars?
Or so many different birds whistling their song?
And the robin watching you move your garden pots
Waiting for a treat.
Or counting the buds on your poppy plant,
the smell of your flowers, as they call to the bees
and pass on their love.

Or the chair in your garden
waiting for the sun,
next to the table with your favourite book.
And the peace you find
when sat in your chair thinking of your day,
as you marvel at the beauty,
and wonder why it has past you by, until now.