Sarah

In shadow views of battle yet to be the final stranger beckons me. I fear that I must now accept what I forsee; the moment of my death is drawing near. Oh sarah, how I want to see your face; to touch, once more, the softness of your skin. Though fate is sealed and destiny in place, I long to hear your gentle voice again. If it is true that spriits conquer death then I will yet return to you somehow. The winds that cool your skin shall be my breath; my tears the gentle raindrops on your brow. I pray you, Sarah, do no mourn me dead... think I am gone to wait for you instead.