An unkindness of Ravens circle in,
Few attend this sordid sortie of crime,
An unholy ceremony of sin,
Her love lost and left with too little time,

She lays still as Snow white, tale beyond Grimm,
Encircled by loved ones in black fabric,
One by one the Ravens march to the rim,
Crowding and caging-in the small casket,

And I in my soil bed laugh at a glance,
As I look back and watch my razor dance.