This verse begins a tale of woe:
At least one that won't last long.
And before I'm done,
You'll be sorry from top to toe;
And perhaps wanting to take it more slowly,
Before the main events begin.
The venerable Solomon, you might recall,
Had the right idea:
His words most clear,
And written in full,
Says you will be miserable before you're dead and buried.
But anyway, I'm still glad I was born…
I've been around many a cathedral,
And seen many sarcophagi,
And many people die.
I'll try to quote Larkin's poem next to the couple's stony pall:
"What will survive of us is love".
At least that's one I won't be able to remember!
Now, let's change the scene:
Dead kings and queens in Westminster seemed poignant;
With Catholic sleeping next to Protestant;
In life not too keen,
To let the dust settle over them,
Or to allow their mortal remains to push up the daisies.
I've also been to Arundel,
And seen that poor chap Philip Howard,
He, being definitely no coward,
Chose Heaven from Hell.
Now, maybe you can tell where my life went so badly wrong,
Before I go and consult the Black Prince and Becket at Canterbury.
My time began with Archbishop Fisher,
And my "cup of suffering" too.
But at the end to begin anew,
And make this tale so much the richer,
I'll remember bishop Warner's backward-flicking mitre.
So why do I talk of holy places in this way?
It's really the history, pomp and circumstance that makes me stay!
