Your grave stone which has round-shape like heavenly mileage post
Which is much more natural than Roman made torturing cross
Two thousands years of translation many truth got lost
If the weather is snowing, raining, misty or clear
Your soul in Heaven, at least your bones are here
As a great poet and as a loving human you are very dear
Some people still misinterpret your critical, spiritual poems
In which you are telling us your mystical aim is not a game
If people cannot understand you that is no excuse to blame
All those blames is not yet granted to anyone a poetical fame
So you sleep in peace I will write for you in bliss
Besides those ignorant people does Heaven make you tease?
When you were here, did you suffer like me with Poetry groups’ smear?
I hope you will enjoy twenty first century, dark looking Irish beer
I though it is a great way to celebrate you; by watering your bones
One paint of beer for me other paint for your head stone
On the earth or in heaven our conscience clears Cheers Blake Cheers.