He lay dead on
a slab of stone
His gentle
spirit to heaven has flown
In death, more
beautiful he grew
His eyes
foliage green moistened with dew
His cold cheeks
still color of rose
His mighty
heart in chilly winter froze
Moonlight shone
to reveal a smile
Was he simply
asleep, resting awhile?
Ethereal power
around him grew
Shining like
stardust of misty blue
Imprisoned in
time he remained
Yet celestial
fire in him never waned
Max O’Reilly
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