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