With fingers bare and wrinkles shown
Much less is little known
With hands under cloak and shroud
A death a day is what is vowed
A figure in the darkest night
Weakens the soul from out of sight...

A mouth opened, and a whispered name
The lungs of one are fully drained...
The hands of the named now ice cold
The cause and reason are withhold

A widow stands at the grave site now
With eyes red and a wrinkled brow
Who knows what time will tell
But her name too will be whispered well