The Spirit Dance
A youngling just born, full of life and pureness.
Innocence remains, a soul yet burdened by time.
Unbeknownst to the youngling of life,
The one dressed in the habiliments of the grave dances.
The cruel dance has begun, and the youngling's eyes just opened.
Throughout time, a crow watches over the youngling.
From tender steps to wizened stride,
The crow observes with an all-seeing eye.
A woven muslin through the sands of time spun,
Where shadows lengthen, day is done.
The path ahead, a fading light,
A whispered promise, a haunting night.
Through fields of lycoris, the youngling wanders with time,
Each step echoes with a mournful chime.
As innocence succumbs to time.
The heart, once pure, now blackened with time,
Beneath a cold and pale lackluster stime.
What evermore can befall this youngling.
The crow watches keenly in the night,
Observes the fading, horrid, dim light.
It watches all, all knowing of the dread,
The whispers from the soil of the dead.
As the youngling’s spirit wanes, the crow intones its somber strains.
The spirit dances full of life, soon comes to halt,
The dance of life, Oh, how a morbid waltz.
The crow watches over, a dance well known before,
It sees the habiliments of the grave lurking evermore.
Lurking, it tricks the youngling into a dance of flaws,
The crow watches as tears befall.
As the spirit dances, the chains tighten,
Now, in the grasp of the lurker.
The spirit makes the final embrace of earth.
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