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.