I stand by this door and hold
Scraps of paper in my hand
Telling of the life and times
Of a single much-loved man
I hand one to each who enters
They sit down on wooden seats
Thinking of the sleeping knight whose
True kind heart no longer beats
Gone from us without a warning
Gone to travel, far too soon
We, too deaf to hear it coming
Strains of death’s familiar tune

Beautiful poem… The title caught my attention. I write something with that title in mind but in a different context. <3