This, my friends, is most sad.I cannot think of the words at this moment...
The lion... no more to roar,
Gone from our fresh ears
His voice... evermore...
I will leave it to Sir William Shakespeare.
A most fitting poet for the lion...
And, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of Heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.