An old tree aged and worn,
Gnarled and withered and torn,
Shades in shadow soft wreaths of mourn,
In shadow, cradle arms are drawn.
Gently grays the shadow's braille,
Cradled within a soul to sail,
Dispatching it, into the night,
The only star a love in sight.
Hand in hand with dream to go,
His arms outstretched to pray it so.
Launching free of lifes hard core,
Into the dark of evermore.
With tears upon his upturned face,
He leaves this sad and lonely place.
To his saving and safe haven.
Away from the raving raven.
Morning sheds the wreath of mourn,
The heart of him, his spirit gone.
Beneath the tree he leaves his clay
His flesh and bone to melt away.