"sonnet41"
and as the soldier lay to die
his hazel eyes turned to the sky,
his blood ran from his mortal form,
she knelt to him, her body warm.
so tender she did touch his face
his trembling soul so full of grace,
she heard his angels drawing nigh,
as tears did fall and lull his bye.
they heard her say, no other man
to which she'd leave her only fan;
she thanked him for the many years,
a child she was and he her seer.
she held him near in his last breath
his sword in hand, `twas a good death.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
21sept09
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