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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1832215
Short poem in an experimental style of mine; based off the old welsh style called Englyn.
The last leaf of autumn falls- life poorly spent!
Senile, sickly, and old
Never took a chance, never bold
In the twilight, in the falling snow.

How is one remembered? By deeds alone.
By valor, and by mercy.
By virtue, and by charity.
These are what remain when you are gone.

Need deeds be great? They simply need be.
You need not have a monument
A life in works of virtue spent
Ensures its own remembrance.
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