Evening dark, damp, cold
 Retreat into electric caves
 Try not to think about you
 In your grave. Your soul 
 Meandering. Suicides in GB
 Buried in unconsecrated 
 Ground, until a MP topped
 Himself and was buried
 In Westminster Abbey 1822:
 Viscount Castlereagh. I think.
 Easier to digress than to confess
 How flummoxed am I 
 With the whole unholy business
 Of not saying goodbye. 
 I want you to live vicariously
 Through me. But that reversal
 Can never be. I retreat into 
 The dry stone walls of north
 Lancashire, the southern Lakes,
 And stare, like Wordsworth,
 At the hills beyond this five-bar
Gate.

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