Benighted scene by the darkened lake,
In the gloomfull, dispiriting black.
Born from a mother not awake,
Blood is the solitary track.
Knifelike rain in cuttings wind,
Lashed against a dying mother's face.
The owls sighed, the reaper grinned,
Human scent, so easily traced.
Harvester of the dead,
Inescapably led
To her inalterable bed.
Left on the soaked moss, her male child,
Attracting the creatures of the woods,
Some in fury, some beguiled,
Greed gave triumph to the wolf.
Taken to the damp and noisome lair,
Fed on the flesh from his mater.
Sleeping and waking, unaware,
Evermore faithful, but a traitor
Cold, appalled, awaken,
Never meant to be taken
By the harvester of the forsaken.