I never truly met you,
Yet you were the talk of my childhood,
Wild stories of unforgettable and unfortunate circumstances,
Giving hope to all who heard your story,
With teary eyed laughter following every joke you told.
You sat next to the queen of my stories every Sunday,
She was one of your dearest mothers who understood,
Thus every Sunday, You were a king.

Before you became a king,
You were a feisty young outlaw,
Making your way in adventure,
Traveling under an alias to hide your tracks,
A ghost able to be seen in the sun,
Going through walls and windows,
You found a friend on your rooftop,
Guiding you under the roof of his home,
Your spirit igniting when you met your true love,
The confused fairytale of Robin Hood,
Your Maid Marian married you without knowing your name,
Choosing heart over head,
She chose to be faithful to the character,
The day your love was injured,
Your family found you once more, Supporting the path you chose.

Everyone was awaiting your end,
Instilling the spirit of peace in your funeral,
Telling everyone that you would still visit when you could,
That you would protect them, cheer them on,
Because from substance abuse to addiction,
You overcame it with ultimate vigor,
Showing that, even without support,
Nothing can beat you unless you let it.