He rests now, stoic in a wooden box with rails along its side,
where half a dozen of his kin shall align
three to a side and carry him all the way home.
The sound and smell of tears shall rise up in the room but
it will not choke the life from any.
Though a child lies sleeping, let us not forget the man.
For Heaven, in all of its beauty, splendor or promised treasure
cannot equal that smile!
How radiant his eyes, ablaze like polished meteors!
Now they are closed, forever resting, sheathed by lid,
wreathed in sorrowful embrace,
the tranquility, letting go!
Though heavy, that steel and wood will be lifted effortlessly
and all of the tears shall follow down with him.
For love has no measure of strength, its will is unbreakable.