Fair Sasha

Forgive me for his reoccurrence, but I used to have quite a crush on that poor man.
I've been making some small illustrations to accompany some old poems of mine.

Here is a piece of it:

The deamons in their chambers chained,

Bound by God's unholy fire,

Say that Sasha's living breath,

Is akin to Orpheus's deathless lyre.

 

Thus is true: No music better suits,

The soldier's dancing son.

Sasha may the stars be mute,

As thy father's gun.