Death is nothing to fear, you said,
yet you prepared for Armageddon.
A rebel living off the grid,
striving for better life in Catalan.
One summer solstice you set out,
o’er jagged mountain trail.
Star chart led you to the pic,
the portal your Holy Grail.
Betwixt twin towers of Mygdal,
bewitched by fateful Canigou.
Like Sauniere, Dali and Verdaguer,
you chose the red pill, not the blue.
Then vengeful gods sent thunderbolt to smite.
They carried you down magnolia paths,
to rest in Eglise Saint Pierre.
Friends and neighbours gathered to mourn.
We wept but you weren’t there.
On golden mornings, fresh as dew,
we hear your laughter roar.
Bask in warmth of your Leo smile.
Aslan has risen once more.
