ANTHONY CRUNDLE

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.