To his love

He's gone and all our plans

are useless indeed.

We'll walk no more on Cotswold

where the sheep feed

quietly and take no heed.

His body that was so quick

is not as you

knew it, on Severn river

under the blue

driving our small boat through.

You would not know him now...

but still he died

nobly, so cover him over

with violets of pride

Purple from Severn side.

Cover him, cover him soon!

and with thickset

masses of memoried flowers

hide that red wet

thing I must forget.