Eternal Sleep

A short poem about death, inspired by the popes passing.

Gathering crowds round thee pray,
pray upon this man so great
hope is no more, for the enivitable day
when fate is felt in such a way

O Melonchaly clouds that lie overhead,
shadowing out thy growing dread,
piece by piece, when done is done
no longer wake beneath the sun.

The stormy brew takes away,
the lingering light left by day
breath by breath, heap by heap
lay thee down for eternal sleep.