Ode to an 11 year old poet.

Death Bed

As I lie on my death bed,

Pondering in my head,

Wondering what went wrong,

The plan three years long,

How did they do it,

Somehow they knew it,

The plan was brilliant,

But the soldiers resilient,

Those jewels sparkling,

My heart darkening,

I would have been rich,

If not for that snitch,

I heard his son shout,

Treason! Treason!,

And my heart filled with doubt,

They caught me, they caught me,

I heard my men flee,

I was cuffed and shackled,

The soldiers they cackled,

So I lie on my death bed,

Pondering in my head