Original Sketch |
In his ears did the winds whisper,
A forlorn prayer of ashen temper.
Salty burns of teary streaks then,
In gentle caress paint them waxen.
What deathless glory sought by him,
Will mend his crippled soul now grim.
Alas! They were but a fool's dreams,
To sail victorious in a sea of screams.
Red caked armor and battered shield,
Sworn by fealty, forever his to wield.
But the glistening bronze crown,
And cruel steel, remain behind thrown,
So he would no longer, in agony, drown.
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