poetry contest

sleep, gray brother of death
have you not heard
as a naked man i go
when night drifts along the streets of the city
royal feast was done
never in all my life
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
some one complained to the master
the stars fell from heaven
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
what do i owe to you
if the red slayer think he slays
to the passionate lover
he's gone