Yukon

In a cave out West,
In a frozen ravine,
There lies a body,
Weathered and aged,

He died of cold,
And his jacket tattered,

Not like any of this really mattered.

To pass the time in his slow death,
He'd play Solitaire and conserve his breath,
He'd die happy and distracted, as anyone should,
He'd die thought to be a Hero as seldom could,

His tattered cards in his blistered hands,
Felt just like fire being made by man,
He kept on playing, ignoring his demise,
For soon he'd be playing in the endless skies,

The Ace of Spades would keep him sharp,
The Ace of Hearts would be his tarp,
The Ace of Clubs would show him his past,
The Ace of Diamonds would be his mask,

The 52 cards, keeping him alive,
Would be all that's left in this cave of time.