The Cold Hand of Death

How cold is the hand of death,
That seized my pet this night.
Little he was, but never would
he give up. Even when he
lost a fin to sickness,
he fought on. Alas, just
when the sickness he was
in triumph almost over,
hath Death's cold syth
take a friend from me.

Alas, you will not be forgotten,
O friend of mine. Only a fish
you may have been in life,
but sadness you are in death.
Goodbye, oh nobel Gilgamesh
may you go on to fight
in a better place.

Rest in Peace, Gilgamesh