If I Should Die…
If I should die
and not be in Cornwall
carry me back
and bury me there.
Under a Pasty Tree
on the West Bank of the Tamar
or further west than that.
And wearing my wellies
the ones with the hole
in the left toe.
Perched upon my head
my flat cap;
and clenched in my fist
a piece of paper
with the words to Trelawny
written there upon.
Sing me a verse
of that fine anthem
then a chorus or two
and bid me begone.