The sunrise on a cold October month
Will turn invisibly bleak as it is dunned
By olden earth that once was, with no epistle
Tonight those forests will have soft vessels
Within each tattered willow, a raven no more
Amid the quaint land of the earth, without words
On the tides of cold and sullen winter
Like a raven's call that hinted the day's weather
I know not how the verges thinned
But, of the devil, my sorrow lives within
Possessed by deep knees pulled by deep sea
What once was will always be
Of a soul that was once free in the vast emptiness
Now there is a canopy, standing in its place