Sorrow in a wet, grey hood
I saw him from across the square
No honorable weapon, there,
Cursed dagger in his hand, he stood….
I knew him, and his heart was good;
His passion, deep, his anger, rare.
But revenge has slaked his deepest care,
What happened to me in the wood.
Gray drops from sky, red from the steel
Tip of Gaio’s dagger, cursed.
Gray. Despair. He stares. I reel.
Pale, his face. We face the worst.
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