the stars in her eyes vanished,
a stillness touched our abode
as into a slumber she sank.
was it the wintery wail,
or just the numbness of death
that gave our skins pinpricks?
else, the menacing tall shadows,
clambering across candlelit walls
to whisper adieux in her ears.
as her bier, they bore away,
ghastly shapes their breathes made,
in the middle of that night.
not a soul tiptoed across.
not a pane lit, nor scurried mice,
through silent streets, when they strode.
all smelt of death; except
fingers moving rosary beads;
and revelling raven-like men.
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