T’was a bone-chilling night, the stars twinkled high,
Echoing the sorrow that swelled in mine eye.
The high queen, suspended on her frigid throne,
Judging me harshly as I stand alone.
The night mist descends like a funeral pall,
Cascading down and consuming all.
Upon this hill, in sepulchral embrace,
Lies the cold stillness of thy pallid face.
“Despicable Death—thou wicked, cunning knave,
Hast...
Continue reading...