For Mama, the mother that my mom never really got to know. You are loved and missed. We all wish you were here, Mama.
The midnight hour strikes
All in their beds, hiding.
From those who wander around
Looking to claim the beloved
A caw rings out, frightening
those who are sickly or close to death
Ravens claim the ones who are closer than others
And haunts those who are further
The call of a midnight bird is never good,
Bringing devastion where ever it's song reaches
Like a red sky in the morning
At last the Crone of Death finally takes her victim.
A mother of four beautiful children and married to a wonderful man.
Taken so young and unfair.
But Death cares not.
The mother lays to sleep for eternity.
The man walks out of where she rests and hears the midnight call
And hangs his head.
The beautiful mother of the beautiful children will be no more
By the red of mourn.