memorial poem

if i should die, think only this of me
still thirteen years
and how could you dream of meeting
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
eighty years have passed, and more
have we no shame?
there is an hour of peaceful rest
i love my hour of wind and light
when i go back to earth
i love my life, but not too well
dear wife
let a joy keep you
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor