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.