He Floats There With Charon On The River Styx.
His Years Of Age Werent Many They Were Merely Six.
Cast Out Into Hell And Left To Fend For His Own.
So Young, So Unready, And So Very Alone.
He Braves The Dangers Of Hell And He’s Merely A Boy.
With Death At Every Turn He Must Laern To Be Coy.
His Battles, His Fights, Make For A Trying Time.
But He Shall Be Remembered In A Poets Rhyme.
Battles And Fights Won Its Time To Go Home.
No Doors And No Arms There To Receive Him,
Our Poor Youn Warrior Is Left To Roam.