let no wind blown the dusk of the morning
breeze, the light of the early moist touches
the falling tears of every chick
hear the gnashing champ of the bamboo
shoot, the sweet brew smell the beetle nut
hanging in the Chimney roof
wide and blue ribbon color the street, something
has dismay, the camp is open yet it's close
for the champ, our hero is on the way
the step started to swing but the body is no
where to stay, it's a knock-out, handed by the
right fist, there our hero falling to sleep
and all have hurriedly gone to pray
dear hero you have made the best to play, even
you had promise that someday you will rise again,
for the falling leaves wait no more than to flip
and fall as it goes to the ground and rest
our hero has lost and will rise again...
"a poem dedicated to MANNY PACQUIO, the 8th times
World Champion in Boxing
Antonio Liao
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fallen-hero/
