Me and My Deceased

To mine own deceas'd
to whom i has't much regreteth
who is't wast stolen in too dram timeth
but hast been with me, yet.  
 
to those who is't weepeth and prayeth 
f'r those we has't hath lost
the dead rememb'r ev'rything 
at such a timely did cost.  
 h're the lady remains 
on this t'rrible day 
awful i couldst sayeth in the least 
not by w'rds
n'r stark h'rr'r 
couldst describeth the final day 
of me and mine own deceas'd 

if 't be true i has't did love but once
i has't did love at each moment.  
 with angelic ch'rus
did shout from the heavens
as the wing'd s'raphs 
beganeth to draweth h'r 
hence from me 
and st'ry hath lost
yond those f'rgot 
the st'ry of 
me and mine own deceas'd 

a loveth untouch'd 
by human hands
a single did rise nev'r wilting
a garden throughout and 
across englands greenest hills 
and with any tho't
of joy yond once bro't
wast hath left in vain 
and wast putteth to rest
thee who is't knoweth this st'ry 
shall bethink to bid t most wondrous
nay poet hath sent
wouldst has't bethought to wenteth 
to the sanctuary 

of me and mine own deceas'd