He was nice, he was warm, ,
was a soul and a Man,
there was a lot in the small one,
...and I'm a little overwhelmed by nothing,
the cocky nothing,
who walks around in a hoodie
and rules the whole world,
in these days of the murderer
that eats youth and children
the plates of power.
He was solid, laughing,
straightforward, manly, envious,
the face of goodness,
picture of the giveaway
and a sign of love,
who loved above all else
the place where he was born
and strived the higher
between the bottom.
Without saying too many words,
building and flying
and the front was crowning
and he'd be rolling it around.
He didn't crawl, like a worm
for a penny's worth of glory,
but he was a clay and he was flying
and, as the storm came,
fell and was jolted
and the rock grew old,
for his little soul to pass through
upstairs where it belongs.
All Kythera cried to you,
handsome lad,
with the sensitive soul
and your boldness,
that you hated so early
for the backs of heaven,
leaving on earth
the poor society
who kills for joy
Whatever good comes to her.
And what can I tell your mother,
where she sheds her hair?;
Damn our country, ,
I will say with great sadness,
our place that has always been
he eats his best.
Oh, black and poor
Wind chirping,
Chirigo that in nothing
you always get an A,
Chirigo that your children
or refugees you're sending them
Or, as many as remain and praise thee,
you scratch them in the back.
Sleep, my boy,
that you were crying for life
and you were riding the dream
and in the front you were flying
and let those who pushed you
living in their black light.
What did they have to give you?;
‘Whatever they had in them.
Perhaps, live in the midst of them,
loud is wrong.
If you're a stranger, you're home,
better the grave.
It is with sadness that I bid you farewell.
My wings are half my weight.
A cruise to infinity,
Kosmas of Platia Ammos.
With truly immense sadness
I bid you farewell in my own way
...you brave and valiant young men.
George P. Drymoniatis
