the scent of death hangs

heavy over the battlefield;

she is drawn by the copper odor of blood,

and the tortured cries of the dying.

in the darkness she picks the bones clean,

with practiced, elegant fingers;

and sharp crow's beak.

she revels in the lunacy of war;

the senseless slaughter.

she feasts upon a graveyard's worth of spoils,

while confused souls whirl like tainted smoke all about her.