On Sunday we would stroll to old Deane Road
My brother used to speak in.his own 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 own
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