For the Old Neighbours

as sung across the rooftops of Moorshire.

Woodcut in four panels: a tall shadow with a point of blue flame stands upon a rooftop; the county locks its doors as the Mercury prints; the singer keens at a funeral; her song goes out across the roofs to meet the blue flame

Click the plate, and the matter is told panel by panel.

The air entire, as the county has it.

Verse 1 Low, lay him low, where the morning was kind, He carried the dark of the sun on his arm. Verse 2 Red, ripe and red, was the wine of his garden, He drank all his years from a vine on the vine. Verse 3 Count, love, and count, for the buttons are scattered, And no one will laugh at the counting again. Verse 4 Write, love, and write, to the friends gone before you, They kept every letter. They're reading them now. Verse 5 White, three threads white, like the lace of a christening, He wore his own winter as bells wear the spring.

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