Whilst laid to rest in woodland copse (contrived)
Neath canopy of boughs now kissed by breeze
Out of the sun, once more by death denied
To those who seek, yet cannot see the trees
Time was when I didst walk amongst the throng
Available to all shouldst need arise
Now here doth lie, some say where I belong
For spouting forth didst lead to my demise
Some things declared are better left unsaid
Yet urgency pre-empts a thoughtful pause
Such truth will out appeasing grateful dead
In Martyrdom’s prerequisite for cause
Seclusion now brings calm before the storm
Whence I will rise unto the manor born