On Sunday we would stroll to old Deane Road

My brother used to speak in. Code

My baby sister in her pram so bold

Now both have died and passed away

I can’t forget the golden rods and Mum’s coat frayed

The cemetery where we used to pray

Now Mum is dead will there be room for me

I prefer to lie beneath my tree

I hope I shall be eaten like the Host

Though I am no Saviour I have done my best

And crave the peace of nature and her rest.

The church bells ring again in harmony

Asking for some peace and charity

I rode on Daddy s shoulders held his ears

He sang and whistled I wished he was still here