He came to die beside the lake.
The golden trout leaped up to view,
The moorfowl clapped his wings and crew,
The swallow brushed him as she flew.
He looked upon the glorious sun,
His blood dropped slowly on the stone,
He loved the life so nearly won,
And then he died. The ravens found
A carcase couched upon the ground,
They said their god had dealt the wound.
The Eternal Father calmly shook
One page untitled from life’s book.
Few words. None ever cared to look.
Yet woe for life thus idly riven.
He blindly loved what God had given,
And love, some say, has conquered Heaven.