Who?

It's done
he'll run no more
gentle as a breeze
rough as a tornado
royal, honorable,
unlearned, untaught,
a bullet made an end
as the gods foresaid.
Damned gods
give him a grave
a bed of fairies
to avoid the worms.
Who in summer will sweeten him with flowers
and in winter warm up his corpse with moss?
The owl in the night?
The lark in the morning?
Who?