'Tis The Grim Reaper

A dreadful tale of an odyssey gone astray.

Begone murky days and nights,
Lost within the lore of a wraith,
With the queer flickering lights,
Hidden within the garths graith.

Howling winds in the dreary din,
Soughing the leaves that dretch,
Abreast the dread'd house of sin,
Where roameth a scornful wretch.

Beshrew'd in those gloomy swales,
That shade the boughs in sadness, 
Drooping across the forlorn dales,
Within that mist of the darkness.  

Bustling winds and rustling steps,
O'er the manifold twigs unshaken,
With the fearful cracks in the wisps,
Behind the hollow trees that awaken.

Draggling within the mire ahead,
Bearing a guise of sheer madness, 
Where ravens pluck open the dead,
Lying wan all within their blindness.

O do not abide amidst his shrill,
When thine eyes are truly aghast,
Under the much sharpen'd thrill,
Whilst thine heart throbeth fast.

Run as far as thou willest my child,
For the hasty hour of death is near,  
And the wanton fiend foul and wild, 
Followeth as thou shiverest with fear.

'Tis a living nightmare with a gory scythe,
Seeking the hapless soul of the sleeper, 
Trickling blood from his cloak he is blithe, 
Within the fortnight of the Grim Reaper.