Raven

Comes the raven dark and leery,
Heralding death so dreary.
Perched on fading tombstone,
The owner unknown.
Oily black his feather shine,
He’s telling me I'm out of time.
Echoing through still solemn trees,
Prayers unanswered on my knees.
The clock chimes the witching hour,
From his obscure shadow I cower.
I beg the raven for more time,
Beady eyes judge me for my crime.
Comes death with his foggy wake,
I pray my soul the Lord will take.
Pointing his emaciated finger of bone,
Etching my name on the tombstone.