The thick grassy mohawk

Shoots down an unused road

I ramble for I'm in the mood

Foxgloves, Forget me nots and Yellow flowers

Of whose name I can never remember 

Dress the ditches in droves

Thick, healthy country ditches

A Bee lands on my hand

Its body throbs in beat

Shagged from nectar eating

And the Indian Summer heat

He rests until he flies

Inside the finger of a foxglove

At the end of the road 

Lies a stone wall and rusty gate

Perhaps a Masonic meeting place?

My weak push 

Moves it enough for a body's width

And I slip in

Growth has come over this locus

Nettles, thorns, thistles and long stalked grass

My shin hits stone

And I scrape away ivy 

To reveal a name

'Michael O' Mahoney

May he rest in peace'

As I walked home that delicious evening

I prayed to be buried in a place like that 

Quiet, beautiful and lacking urban pain

And I picked and breathed in a Yellow flower

The one...Damn, I cannot remember the name