The weight of the world lies not
On the swords laying astrew on battlefields of death
With hilts bloodied and gazes foul
But the silver tongues on the fields of life
And the gentle hand that touches upon
The minds eternal
And the hearts tender in remembrance

The mundane shake of the head
And the frail finger that
Wipes off the sweat
Crowning the brow

Oft forgotten.
Oft enclosed.