The bird of Death.

Distort in the dark,
I hear the cry of the crow,
The bird of death,
Hovers so low,

I’ll let it take me when it comes,
I have nothing to live for.
As it nears it hums,
Now I hear more.

Death is coming close,
Getting even closer,
Darkness surrounds,
Night holds bounds.

Its claws dig deep,
In to my bear arm,
I feel the blood seep,
Tearing at the yarn.

I feel the pain,
As the bird fly’s,
I cry in vain,
As the sun dies.