The dead man

Spoke out the youngest son

Where is my father? Where is my father?

No one could answer

For he had gone beyond the world and farther

It had begun one day

When the war raged high

It had ended one day

When the warrior’s folks could only sigh

They gave up to death

Left their wait

But spoke out the youngest son

I will not bend to fate.

The elders, pioneer of magic

Could bring only bones

They tried all their magic

But there were now stones

Then the elder brother

Assembled them together

The younger one put on the flesh

The third one breathed life

And the man was back again live and fresh

Said he in a deep voice

Proclaiming of a gift

The three brothers screamed

I will take it! I will take it!

Said the man beckoning to the youngest

My dear son

The gift belongs to you

For a man is never truly dead until he is forgotten.

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