Elegy: Old Dear Saint
Old Dear Saint isn't that what they used to call you?
The way you sat upon your noble steed
And how you did many good deeds.
How your hands were hard and cracked
And how you played well when the cards were stacked
But now,Old Dear Saint, those are memories.
Memories that stay with the dryad in the barrow.
She stands beside your stone.
The carved letters telling us your story.
A story not meant to be told.
Only those who knows your secret can hear me talk.
Old Dear Saint aren't you sleeping under your cenotaph?
Can you hear the freshly dug dirt being tossed onto your wooden box.
Can you hear us all mourning as the gun goes and the trumpet sounds out Tap?
Can you? Can you? Can you?
If you can hear me, I am sorry to say,
You had to end this way.
I am sorry you left out of the eyes of green.
I am sorry your treasures and trinkets will break many of those
Who don't care what you did to gave others freedom.
Old Dear Saint, you gave them the right.
For you didn't write a deed.
Now Old Dear Saint I will miss you.
I will miss you dearly.
That chair will never be the same.
Nothing can replace you.
The laughs and fun times we had are now passed.
Still nothing can replace you.
