Death is its toy,
love is its prey.
Yet be known that this is no end.
He sits there upon the snow,
his story all in woe.
Smiles lay upon his head no more,
lies are left to leave their tear,
no more happiness only fear.
He lays down gently his head so heavy,
this tiny one of none's love be weary.
His body colder with each minute,
eyes slowly closed light not bore.
This Boy Shall Be No More.
