He could be a soldier, protector of the weak,

braver and bolder than a lion at its peak.

He could be a judge, there is justice to deliver,

decisive and swift, relentless as a river.

He could be all that and so much more,

but was bound by destiny he couldn’t ignore.

The body must follow where the heart does aspire,

to live a life full of passion and fire.

His tunes would fill hearts with joy,

darkness and shadows his songs would destroy.

Being a bard, that was his calling,                                                                      

with his head in the clouds, even when falling.

He sang old songs, long forgotten in time,

filled with passion and beautiful rhyme.

He’s welcomed with smiles wherever he goes,

his beautiful songs everyone knows.

He sang of love that lingers on lips,

of days of sunlight and times of eclipse.

He sang of courage hidden deep in our heart,

when honor was cherished as much as art.

A bard is not destined to live to old age,

for each song he sings turns life’s fleeting page.

Angels bathe in the beauty of his rhyme,

they will call him away before his time.

One day he sat under a mighty tree,

enjoying the company of birds and a bee.

The most beautiful song he sang on that day,

his final gift, he must go on his way.

He finished his song and drew his last breath,

his heart stopped beating; he was taken by death.

Silence replaced his melodious voice,

not by her wish, but by fate’s cruel choice.

Spring blossoms covered his body on the ground,

to preserve a song, or just peace of his sound.

A hill arose, almost made to impress,

the loveliest grave, but a grave, nonetheless.

Memories often get lost in time,

we remember some fragments, a word or a rhyme.

But things that matter are never truly lost,

nature preserves what is best at all cost.

If we live too fast, we may live to regret,

we must steady our hearts, let our minds reset.

Maybe we are lucky, if we listen and stay,

and birds will chirp his song on this day.

Borut Kaučič