Kings, Paths And Deaths Poem by Frank Gray

They sit down, needed six or five chairs or maybe more
To tale of things they had saw, things they had heard, things yet to come.
The first, told tales, cold and blue, for she had walked where tears always fall,
The second, told tales hot and blood red, for he had walked where hate might grow.
The third and fourth told the same tale, for they had walked hand by hand.
The fifth, told tales of a river of gold and a mountain of sliver, for they had worked where so few could.
The last whispered of the void, and the deaths of five yet to come.