The dusty crow who knows my name does call, and sleeps as grave and sound as my lost soul- as time does ponder and rid me mortal role, I but wander through this dead shameless hall. Begone the life, and love, with dying thirst- Who knows be true, with the shell I live in; leaving me alone, bleak, and left of skin, my flesh was soft, but it died dead the first. Linking from the foot to bone, I bowed much less- and left me humble, where no man hast stepped- though know not I the rage, nor foul tempest, of jealousy, or putrid thought that crept; Lost... I am but naked hollow who dress, the night with burbles I mighty wept.
© copyright Eve Redwater 2011