In thirty years when you are old

As I am now

And wondering what to say

To your forty year old son

Who wonders what he’ll say in turn to his

When his turn comes

Will you spare a thought for my passing

And ponder was it easy for me?

Will you gather with your brothers,

Greying, stooped and anxious

Around a welcome table

Brimmed with real ale pints

In Malham say or Robin Hood’s Bay

With your children hunting crabs

In rock pools beside the stream

That cuts through the beach to the sea

And speak of me?