It was a busy year for death She crept about the palace And we had poor defense And she had little malice A gentle touch put here - A sad and curt embrace A wooden kiss enough To put them in their place And where my father went Is not now common knowledge The inventory was lent To some old Cambridge college I had little faith then, Nothing spoke to me When what you see is Gospel The Gospel isn't free And Krishna's conch is sunk The lotus not in bloom Solomon's song unsung And prayers are called too soon So where my father went Is wind against the mountain His love was all but spent So mine is as a fountain All the fruit turn red Some of them are still green But never will you see one That's stuck and in between As all came from a garden Where the wind has died down low And there my father went To help the green fruit grow He tends them with a smile His fingers stroke the leaves He'll never leave the garden It's all that I believe