If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field 

That is forever England. There shall be

In that rich earth, a richer dust concealed; 

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air

Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back those thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts at peace, under an  English heaven.

For my Father

10 June 1928 - 2 November 2015