Dark skies are falling through the town, the mist
Strolls along the damp cobblestone walkway.
He comes alone, only with scythe assist.
Path and scythe, cruelly curved, long and grey.
He walks along, at all never stopping
While this wretched creature beckoned me near.
Held in place, but my heart not yet falling.
Angel of death, a lovely pale reaper.
Embrace of Death is all that gives me hope.
The one whom will take me into the mist.
Reaching in my *****, my soul to *****,
It submitting within his bony fist
Playing with heart-strings, his fateful gest
He, who delivers me eternal rest
Sonnet about the Grimm Reaper
— The End —