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