The morning suns rays catch my face.
Though it’s light and warmth touch me not.
For I’m cold as the clay.

Forever skywards I face.
While my marble pillow changes to white from grey.
Vivid coloured flowers gently sway.

No scent, no sound, no taste, and no touch.
No longer the hunger that consumed so much.
While your tears help cleanse my soul.

We lived as we died, freemen and proud.
Hard men who led hard lives.
Fatherless children, husband-less wives.

The blade I pass to you.
Keep it sharp and sure,
Let your aim be true.

And when it’s over.
Be sure to know
I’ve kept a place for you.