To Paul Saville
Your brother recalled days you roamed until sunset,
Your niece the painting trips you took her on:
Your annual Lido dip with a cigarette,
The wine and coke while sketching fish at dawn;
But while our old boss told some rollicking
Summer school tales, I thought of the bacon rolls
We ate, when you had shown the Mistletoe King
His portrait, one frosty morning in Tenbury Wells,
And I wished I’d made a eulogy myself
In praise of those portraits you made: the look
That badger gave and your gardener in France;
The freeminer who mined the Coleford High Delf;
The hedgelayer we saw whet his billhook
And you shot me a mock-horrified glance.
