Distorted rendition of William Wordsworth’s We Are Seven
Original viewing of said poem can be found, well anywhere- just Google it, you lazy bums

[Warning: My first time ever writing anything for the public, or ‘fanfic’… ‘fanpoem’, in this case]
[Second Warning: It is based heavily on the poem, they are some lines taken directly from the poem. He created the poem first; therefore, any lines that are his are his… Capiche?]

Lastly, blame Little Mouse… her prompt for favorite poem sparked this ‘creation’:
And without further ado…


A Simple Pilot
That quietly embarked into Space
And hears its breath in the deadly silence
What should it know of life?

I met that little Arabian child:
He was fifteen years old, he said:
His hair was thick with golden curls
That framed his youthful face.

He had an innocent, gentle air,
And he was nondescriptly clad:
His eyes were pure, and very pure;
--- His beauty made me weep.

‘Comrades and friends, little Child,
How many may you be?’
‘How many? Seven in all,’ he said,
And slanted his head to look up at me.

‘And where are they? I pray you tell.’
He responded, ‘Seven are we;
And two of us at undisclosed location dwell
And two are gone to the Colonies.

Two of us at church-yard lie,
My spirited and solemn comrades,
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
dwell near them with my Clan.’

‘You say that two at undisclosed location dwell,
And two are gone to the Colonies,
Yet ye are seven!—I pray you tell,
Sweet Child, how this may be.’

Then did the little Arabian youth reply,
‘Seven comrades are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the magnolia tree.


‘You breathe, my Arabian child,
Your heart is beating;
If two are in the church-yard lie,
Then ye are only five.’

‘Their graves are green, they may be seen,’
The golden-haired youth replied,
‘Twelve steps from my garden’s gate,
And they are side by side.

‘And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my violin,
And play my violin there.

The first that died was comrade Duo,
In the sky his Deathscythe fell,
His scythe unfastened from his loyal guardian,
And then he went away.

So in the church-yard he was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round his grave we reminisced,
My comrade Heero and I

And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could watch one more year go by,
My comrade Heero was forced to go,
And he lies by Duo’s side.’

‘How many are you, then,’ said I,
‘If they two are in heaven?’
Quick was the Pilot’s reply,
‘O Sir! We are seven.’

‘But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!’
‘Twas throwing words away; for still
The Pilot would have his will,
And said, ‘Nay we are seven!’




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