I

Where she fell swearing hand to side
The old tramp woman lies.
For every black year of her life
A raven flies.
And the gaunt ungainly procession
Flaps over the skies.

II

Look up, O living passer by,
And see the white clouds in the sky:
Look round on this dear valley land
With Meavy Church on thy right hand,
And in thy mercy shed a tear
For the blind thing buried here.