2 AUGUST 2003, Page 33

18th July 2003

He chose the woodland paths he knew and loved. Others will pass Remembering how he found a comfort here In trees and grass.

No thrusting faces now, no avid eyes, No constant questioning, no press release, Only that final act which none dare mock And earth, and peace.

What have we made of life That such a man as he should wish to die? Now is the time to end our raucous strife And ponder why.

P. D. James