My England.

May I ask?

That when death calls,

You'll caress

this poet.

Where his shadow falls,

 

On his grave,

Lay a rose

of deepest red,

Shed, just one

single tear,

For your loyal dead,

 

Paupers grave

without cross

or marker stone.

Silent rest,

rest in peace

In your arms alone,

 

Entombed in

Blakes rhythmic

green and pleasant land

Steady him

Securely

Within mighty hands