ANDREW DAVID STUART 08/04/2009 Drift soft you seasons as you pass, Lay gentle, temperate on that spot; Let not the furies vent their wrath, Upon the sweet flower scented plot; There lies, reposing, such a man, Who will not pass this way again; His grace was of a time long past, A son, a father, brother and friend. Mum Ella, Derek, Gary and Thor.

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