In Silence, The Raven

In prescient sight doth hath the raven;

His flight in swiftness perceives my vision.

Oh, how this omen doth yet come to me

This mark of death I see written so free.

You stand proud in a sky of tinted gray,

Upon which the fathoms of the old world lay.

Retending the bosoms of mother earth’s bode,

Destined to fly this wretched world alone.

He must stand and watch, this silent phantom he,

His quells stir the air, filled not with quait glee.

For his message is not one of delight

But of the death of a loved one in flight.

Mortal, he says, I must tell unto thee,

Man I have marked so that He may be free.