Death sailed these waters black,
ahead the sombre troops of creeping doom,
with plagues poised to attack
and trailing fetid, morbid stench of tombs.

Dark omens in the fog
– a cuckoo's voice cut violently short...
The scythe of vengeance struck;
deep sleep engulfed the land forevermore.

A lonesome bird remained,
its wings all worn and cruelly broken bones,
afloat, with silenced heart
and songs unsung – eternally unknown.

Tomorrow's snow will hide
and endless night embed your brief remains.
One day new light may well
ignite the night with mysteries arcane.

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