He Went The Way He Lived His Life Poem by Mark Heathcote

His last hour came quickly and ever so fast
One minute it took; till, his seconds last.
He paused and let out; an almighty roar!
Scythed down was he like an old sycamore.
His breath exhaled, once life had failed
To keep faith in all that fight he regaled.
He pushed aside his sons own fearful sobs,
Who'd hoped to see unburden his heartthrobs?
To be reaffirming something of their bond
Instead, he roared and let his rage … abscond.
'I told his son' 'there's nothing wrong' 'He went
Happy the way he lived life, discontent'.
Fighting; for each solitary breath more.
So, wasn't about to die a mooing, herbivore.