When the sun rose,
You sat so proudly on your high horse,
And as your horse grew higher and higher,
You had so much pride that it multiplied into five
And grew by eleven.
                                                                                                                                                             We were your pride
When the sun setted,
You fell so far from grace.
And as you fell,
Your children cried,
You smiled as you passed,
For you knew you were no longer of this world,
When the night came,
You were gone,
Where you lied,
A grave sits there.
Where your high horse once stood,
Is now a house filled with memories you created.
When the morning sun came,
Your laughter remained.

Physically speaking,
You’re buried underground.
But if we take it spiritually,
You’re always around.