The night is cold.
The boy sleeps
Alone, there's no family here.
His ragged clothes
No protection from the cold.
His wheezing breath
A sign of deathes hold.
His heart beats slow,
The end is near.
I weep for the poor soul
Who's family is not here.
The grave lies empty
On its plot of land.
The mist rolls over
Where decaying stones stand.
From the mist,
Strool figures laden
With faces grim from
The weight of their burden.
The reach the grave
Where a priest now stands
Alone, there's no family here.
The priest says words
I cannot hear.
I weep for the poor soul
Whos family is not here.
RavenLife