The Word by John Masefield<br />Read by Liam Neely.<br /><br />My friend, my bonny friend, when we are old,<br />And hand in hand go tottering down the hill,<br />May we be rich in love's refined gold,<br />May love's gold coin be current with us still.<br /><br />May love be sweeter for the vanished days,<br />And your most perfect beauty still as dear<br />As when your troubled finger stood at gaze<br />In the dear March of a most sacred year.<br /><br />May what we are be all we might have been,<br />And that potential, perfect, oh my friend,<br />And may there still be many sheafs to glean<br />In our love's acre, comrade, till the end.<br /><br />And may we find, when ended is the page<br />Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
