Blue lights are hidden in the iron; a star is in my eye, as a drip of the sad drops of life may fall, in a pale frame of a prism, where rainbows of color like soft soaring fires, turns swiftly into darkness. For now I let down your weak and frail frame; I lift up my arms into the night, and let drift your sailing winds unto eternity. You were killed with the cruel iron. The cold bullet of the night. You were slain with the bronze heart, though your heart was the soft night of the flowers. Let me bury you and let the grains of the dust curl around you with the kind warmth of home. In life you were kind. In spirit you were simple. And though few now know your name, your echo is an ever growing chamber, built with the works of a heavenly dust. A light in the heavy clouds will shower you in its glory. And the stars will ring the soft glowing sound of a great wind swirling. For you are a great wind; your kind thoughts will surround you in the echoes of eternity. And the voices of nature will ring your fine balance as you had balanced the virtues. Even if the world forgets you, like the first sun to ever shine in the night, I will remember you.