His Sense of Duty
No less than mine, I deem.
His sense of duty.
In life, his face was dark, yet fair.
Fine features of a prince,
Black eyes a warrior's,
His mouth a lover's, or a minstrel's.
I wonder what his name was?
For in his death-still eyes, I see
Myself, my counterpart, my twin.
Dark shadow to bright sun.
And I wonder
If fate had drawn us both a different hand
Would he now pause above my death-still form
To wonder at my sense of duty?