Remembering the poet, who died aged 84 last week
Whether to blaze out – trumpets to Eryri –
Or to go down with final rampage –
Why not (b)? This is the Ramp Age
Yet all too often damp-fiery.
Think, those entombing pits
Where, I suppose, the odd skeleton still squats,
Unreached these many thousand-and-one nights;
Fable or not it is unbearable.
Nye died of cancer, surprised-by, terrible.
