The raven watches with it's inquisitive eye.

Perched in the tree under the moon lite sky.

An observer of all that pass by.

Black feathered wings.

He so hauntingly sings to the night.

Mischief gleams in his shining black eyes.

Melancholy cries.

The raven black as night spreads his wings so gracefully in flight.

Clever with keen sight he watches and oversees from his solitude in the trees.

The cemetery carries the scent of death.

The poor souls that have taken their last breath.

The raven caws his forlorn song.

Watching the souls that can't move on.

Each night they rise roaming with anguished cries.

Where death lies the raven can be found.

Tombstone markers buried in the ground.

Each telling the sad tale of demise.

Death has come when the raven cries.

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