MY arms are round you, and I lean <br />Against you, while the lark <br />Sings over us, and golden lights, and green <br />Shadows are on your bark. <br /> <br />There'll come a season when you'll stretch <br />Black boards to cover me; <br />Then in Mount Jerome I will lie, poor wretch, <br />With worms eternally.<br /><br />John Millington Synge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-oaks-of-glencree/
