In twilight’s hush, the crows take flight,
Their wings like ink on fading light.
A chapel moans with wind’s lament,
Where tombstones lean, long dreams unspent.
The roses bleed in moonlit gloom,
Each petal mourning from the tomb.
A shadow stirs with silent breath.
The velvet touch of gentle Death.
He walks not cruel, but calm, austere,
A lullaby for those who fear.
And in his arms, the weary rest.
A final kiss, forever blessed.