Dawson

No pagan crown of fossil lairs Of him I write no verse nor song T’is not a soup to stir nor share When lending strength, to something wrong. Seconds cloned from darkest matter Mutated minutes dredged by fear Mind confusion as reason shatters Innocents lanced by emotion's spears. Flowers edge the steps and fences Prayers are uttered near a shrine Notes of love, as grief commences A vigil wrought by hearts sublime. Picking up the scattered pieces Light must shine to crack the dawn Support can smooth the furrowed creases Only hope can make their spirits strong.