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In the late 1800’s working a trade well-meant
I was considered different to my sorrow and detriment
I thought about changing, to reinvent
But, as “Ranger” (that’s me) I was content
I was a mortician by trade (not held to be routine) 
My occupation ostracized but to me sensible and serene
Nor as strange or alarming as some may deem
Ghosts, spirits and the deceased frequented my dreams
Providing the spiritual source that supported my prediction
Everyone’s earthly departure led to a new dimension.

Sadly by my late thirties I bowed to my fate
Convinced I would never have a mate
Absent Society’s invitations and hardly befriended
Dwelling in Society’s circles for me was prevented
When I turned forty my life was transformed
Raven flew into my life like a raging firestorm
Accepting who I was and liking every part of me
We embraced the unity that was meant to be.
Raven was a vibrant force, caring, and warm
Full bosomed spare but very graceful in form
Face exquisitely drawn and eyes like stormy dawn
Tall as I with opulent lips I yearned to taste
Her lustrous black hair tumbled below her waist

To all except Raven I was blind
We took root in each other’s soul and mind
The Supreme Being whoever He or She may be
Brought forth Raven I believed just for me
Raven gave me joy and added meaning
To my life with intense fulfilling feeling
She had humor, wit, and a naughty nature
She gave me pleasure Raven my cherished treasure.

One day I was off to the village while Raven was relaxing
She’d had a cold and her lack of rest had been taxing
I planned to surprise her with a hand-crafted gift
Ordered from the goldsmith with no thought for thrift
As I passed Turnbull’s Tavern at the front end of town
Two men crashed the doors and knocked me to the ground
They fought furiously cursing rolling knives slashing
I was pinned beneath pushing kicking gasping
Suddenly and painfully I felt a sharp penetration
In agony and disbelief there came instant recognition
“Oh no,”  “Raven,” I breathed, “Raven.”
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