• Acorns fall as do people
    Oh what sorrowful awe for the reaper
    Upon the oak sits a crow
    With razor teeth and putrid feathers
    Stained with blood
    A crimson tinge
    Eyes of red glowing bright
    Guarded by another sight
    A horrid figure glowing darkly
    Smiling wicked with crazy eyes
    Standing tall legs like poles
    Laughing faintly
    It turns it's head
    Without a nose it smells not
    The scent of death surrounding all
    Waiting for another fall