Renoir’s Field

Your father is buried in Renoir's field
but you will be following soon;
Shakespeare's hat lies turned in a ditch,
full of the silvery moon

The masque performed by the mummers was drab
while you sat with your tarot and loom,
weighing the sea and the sky in your hand;
and the priest in the secret room.

The soldiers are going to Marston Moor
and leave to a marching tune,
the frozen mosaic is down in the mud
and you will be following soon

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