When that ebony encases us,
revealing the dirges,
the soporific hour passes
in sweet monotony.
The fatal blow - hollow woven in
thy soul;
Where Death, he slips his fingers
in search of life.

When we find him; creeping about
in the bleakness - perhaps lamenting-
And in perfect soundlessness; stifling
the voices of the ornery, claiming he
was inevitable.
that obscure eye...