Golden leaves fall peacefully on churning frigid waters.
The Moon’s milk spills down the shoreline.
Golden leaves collect on his pale blue skin
As he bobs softly in the autumn wind.
Rope rotted round his throat, ragged grave brown, Dead man's fingers worn as a sullen crown.
The sky’s spark conquers heavy night
As he sinks into Superior waters.
In death, he has found strength, Honour and pride
Adorned with beautiful jewels Of ice and snow and gold
He is whole
Bloated and strong
To drown alone
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