Poemhead

Dirge

Moonglow midnight choir
Sing me to my slumber
This bed I have made
Shall feel my final shutter

As humble as the field mice
As solemn as a stone
The ground in which they rest
Will soon cradle my bones

Martor of prose
With your last breath hum
A vestigial tune
Till your lungs grow numb

I drink from the chalice
In the parlor of death
The clock chimes the hour
As I breathe my final breath