ANTHONY CRUNDLE

By John Drinkwater

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.