photo | Gill Henwood

‘When I am King
I’ll wear a robe of autumn gold
and deep blue sky
and tell my fierce red subjects ‘Hold
up your rich dying, do not die
for I’m your King.’
But they’ll reply
‘Such robes are only won by dying.’

This poem was composed by a young man who was diagnosed with an illness for which there was no cure. It was a powerful comment on his own impending death – but not in any morbid or fatalistic way – and it ends on a note of hope…

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