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