The Passerby
On those neglected plains of tower, ivory
Laid a warrior scathed and wounded
Once was his name sang and praised
His lore told in many a story
Of many that met and couldn't raise
That struggling hero that desolately lay
All raveling in the mans own praise
None passed but left him in his clay
Then came that spirited lad
In hard work he came clad
And raised the warrior back to fame
And ignited his glory and his name as flame
Before we could have him adorned
He left on his lofty journey
Taken away, never to be returned
He was like us all, a passerby.
(DEDICATED TO C.D LAWI)
Writie
