In the Dead of the Night
It was a death in the dead of the night,
Led by soft music of a harp so sweet,
Unharkened foreshadow of their blight,
Little knew they of the fate they'd meet.
The harpist's song held not by door nor pane,
Bringing its message to the souls on their last eve,
Huddled... Shivering... Sheltering from the rain,
Little knowing that they'd never leave.
A long curved blade gleams in the moonlight,
A dark figure looming above their heads,
The music takes them as they turn in awe at the sight,
One swift, sharp note, and they were... dead.