All his thoughts have crumbled to dust,
Yet staunch and proud he stands,
His tiny toenails are bleeding red with rust,
His tattered clothes he holds in his bare hands;
There was a time when everything seemed new,
To him the world was kind and fair,
And then that wicked wind of the East blew,
And shattered our boy's world bare;
He tried to run, he tried to hide,
He tried hard to make absolutely no noise,
The wind like the Reaper stood by his bedside,
And laughed at this youngling's lack of poise;
The boy tried hard to dream an angel song,
But all his thoughts were turned blue,
For the years he'd seen were not so long,
And the moments that he had left, so few;
Faithful to the end did he stand,
To his love and belief in that place,
Awaiting the touch of that Grim, cold hand,
The smile never fading from his face;
Even today, after all these long years,
His face stands proud etched in black stone,
His poise now a legend, the slayer of fears,
He smiles from atop his cherry throne..!!
