In the chilly night of November, Do you remember? The cold dripping red, Flowing down, dread?
He slumbers. He murmurs. "Please..." "Stop...Please?"
His fast breaths, His hair, a crown of wreaths; Blends and fades, A dark shadow invades.
He whimpers. He breaks. I held him tight, with all my might.
Memories do fade in time. His doesn't and taste like lime - Painful and sour, Tangy and dour.
He hurts. He battles, with every remembrance, of a haunting crimson lance.
" I am here." I whisper to his ear. Softly like powder, Gently like flower.
He hushes. He smiles, In my warm embrace, In my blanket of lace.
A cradle, I'm to him, A house of hope without dim; Praying for his wounds to mend, Dreaming of our better days ahead.