This is a Poem my son wrote: He is studying British Literature this year and was required to write a Beowulf Style Poem.
This Poem tells our story beautifully:
My ancestor was diagnosed,
As I, entered my twelfth year.
He fought valiantly, though for him
The treatment, was worse
Than the disease. No mortal
Can live without the necessities.
No man, regardless of strength
Can survive without a functioning body.
He succumbed that same year.
The next year, my forefather,
The model of health, had a darker prognosis.
Death was inside him,
Creeping up, Ceaselessly advancing.
He had not six months left.
This time, death would not prevail so quickly.
For 5 long years, he has battled.
Today, he is weakened, but
Not destroyed. An emblem of strength,
A hero for all.
But why was this cross,
Given to him? Why has one
Who was a model of health,
Received this, the disease of sinners?
Only the Creator knows. Perhaps
This is not a burden, but a crown.
Like the martyrs of old,
Who wear crowns of honor.
They too fought ceaselessly.
They too gave all.
They too understood the Almighty is in control.
In the end, that is all that matters,
That the Almighty is in control.
By: Matthew Advent