The Reaper

The Reaper

I creep, I glide, I cripple by
Like a raven cuts the dark night sky
Some days I’m young and some I’m old
Age is not a habit I uphold

A garment black, a sharpened blade
With these tools I do my trade
From house to house, from town to town
None who see me dare frown

But no companion have I,
Except my lonely steed
And so at dusk I sometimes cry
For duty calls me to heed

I like not taking lives,
May they rest in peace
But as the bell in distance chimes
I have to do my deeds

What good am I, what joy I bring?
But only darkness and death’s dark sting
A raven old, a bastard black
One day I’ll leave and not come back.