Bury me at night

bury me in some English Church Yard.

 

Let there be some crooning

Bessie Smith would do.

 

Let there be some Frederick Delius.

 

Let there be flasks of alcohol

let there be a clear-eyed manic bat,

 

and let there be  a priest 

hauled out of retirement.

 

Let there be something macaronic

a good old  crack of the Teutonic.

 

Let there be Baron Osterhagen

with a gin and tonic.

 

Let there be a wooden cricket ball

let me swing low, sweet chariot.