ANTHONY CRUNDLE of Dorrington Wood
Played on a piccolo. Lord was he,
For seventy years, of sheaves that stood
Under the perry and cider tree;
Anthony Crundle, R. I. P.
And because he prospered with sickle and scythe,
With cattle afield and labouring ewe,
Anthony was uncommonly blithe,
And played of a night to himself and Sue;
Anthony Crundle, eighty-two.
The earth to till, and a tune to play,
And Susan for fifty years and three,
And Dorrington Wood at the end of day...
May providence do no worse by me;
Anthony Crundle, R. I. P.