Ode to Han Solo

I saw you in a cold hell,
With the shield doors slammed shut behind you.
The tauntaun smelled bad on the outside.

It was cold and getting colder.
It was dark and getting darker.
Your friend’s life was at stake.
Now, so was yours.
The suspense nearly killed you both.

You, who trusted nothing, much less fate,
Not knowing the river of your courage
Had its source in a writer’s room
That rooted for you both,
And deaf to the long odds
The droids can’t stop calculating,
You live the only way anyone can,
By staking everything, over and over.

Catching time’s groove, you found him in its nick,
Catching his death of cold.
With the grave resolve of the best of friends,
You crafted him a new womb
From the belly of your expired steed.
(And you thought they smelled bad on the outside!)

Then, while he lay, still as a corpse
In that grim darkness, you fashioned for him
A shelter in the dying light,
A tiny temple of friendship in the gnawing cold.

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