Author's Note: This is a poem I wrote quite a while ago now; it was actually my first fanfic. It's been updated to fix some minor issues because Big T. Anderson is planning to post a reading of my poem on YouTube, as part of a series of read-out fanfics. I hope you enjoy it. xxx


There stands a man just by the graves,

Death-pale in the moonlight.

His posture strong, his head held high,

With yellow eyes for sight.


The stones below his sturdy frame,

Depict his crewmates old.

He looks at them just now as I,

Let his story unfold.


He has lived for many a year,

The man that's not mortal.

And now his friends, the first he had,

Have gone where he can't go.


The Picard, as he was once called,

Captained Enterprise D.

A diplomat, a role model,

Wanting hot Earl Grey tea.


His first, with a number to match,

Was Riker, William T.

Kind Casanova, good at heart,

His beard was flirting's key.


He made us strong, he helped us go,

Blind engineer Geordi.

That big heart, unlucky in love,

We will remember thee.


Worf, loyal Klingon standing tall,

The bravest man, with pride.

Died with honour, on a good day,

His wishes not denied.


Empathic powers used for good,

The flagship crew took heed.

Deanna held, as a support,

To counsel those in need.


The ship's chief medical officer,

Always the first on scene.

Worthy Beverley, who destroyed,

Germs never before seen.


Those six names were lovingly carved,

By friends and family.

But they now lie under the sky,

Leaving just one man to see.


''Loss: an integral part of life'',

Troi's soothing words once said,

But most only live a short time,

Until they too are dead.


Our companion, who's standing there,

Holds perfect memory.

Of how everyone he did love,

Was gradually set free.


''How many lifetimes will he live?'',

You may well now ask me.

''His death would pain us most of all,

But he needs to be happy!''


Millions of lives he has saved,

And he will do so still.

His golden heart's what drives him on,

More than his android skill.


Maybe one day he will decide,

To let his power drain.

His inorganic form would still,

His switch not used again.


But now he stands, near his good friends,

Who met their journey's end.

He lowers his head, shuts his eyes,

Thinks of his love to send.


Those ignorant to him would think,

That he had sprung a leak.

But they are simply golden tears,

Flowing down his pale cheek.


I know him well, for I have watched,

Data's mission complete.

He may not have a human heart,

But his big soul does beat.


Knowing this, seeing him see death,

I pulled him from his fate.

I could not bear to see that love,

Selflessly terminate.


No loss could be felt as keenly,

As his funeral showed.

It wasn't long after that I,

Gave them what they were owed.


If anyone could hear my thoughts,

They would be screaming ''Who?''

I would then say ''You're nearly there,

But actually, it's Q!''


Professor of humanities,

Now wipes his teary eyes.

And walks away, into the night,

Having said his goodbyes.


How many more days will he live?

Even I do not know.

But I'll ensure his death is due,

To choice – I'll make it so.