There once was a man
Who had grown gravely ill
Moribund, wrote a last will a night
But the love all around him by day
Brought him peace
And with that came a reason to fight

For the honor it was
He considered it so
To keep it alive and secure
To share and to teach it to others
And lovers
And ask in return nothing more  

Than to leave them his art
All the pieces he’d found
In a some sense-discernible form
After falling apart
With it shattered and tattered
And scattered all over the floor