Wherefore doth thou persist in awaiting he?

For sickness bore and pain with no relief?

A life of scholarship, no guarantee,

Yet he, eternal treasurer of belief.

For devilish hearts of them kill souls at times,

The moon doth shine on seamless, darkest nights.

'Twas his virtue, in moonlight thou revived,

Thus by his side thou dwelt for death and life.

In plight thou taught his son to read and write,

Believing persecution not thine end.

In joy and luck thine student did survive,

Returning home, yet told that thou’d been dead!

A body not yet buried, soul escaped,

In gratitude of moonlight and his name!