"Who are you" speaks the king
"I am death and but a small little thing"
Replies the shape its form now unfurled
"Tiny to you my lord that sits at the top of the world"
"I would very much like to hear you sing"
Pleads the small dark underling
And oh the king did sing a song so fair
With lyrics and verse so rich and rare
Of beauty and beasts and dragons slayne
Of love and laughter of hate and pain
And of the queen with raven black hair
All the time the shape standing there
Then asked the king one day in his usual drone
"Be it just this wine or have you grown"
The shape did smile and nod in a way to agree
"I have grown much since you first sang to me"
But do not fear my size, despair or moan
For I am still small to you who sits the throne
Thus the king he sang to a different score
A different song than sung before
Of prince's, princesses castles and fires
Of others happiness wants and desires
And deep in his heart and at his core
He new he'd talk to death only once more
Seasons passed and one winter jagged and cold
The king went to bed to rest his bones now old
"I an not so large" the black shape said
"large enough to me that lies in this bed"
The King smiled and offered his hand for death to hold
"Time for others songs to be sung and stories told"
