Nestled in your bones, Ravens cloaked in black; Murmurs, whispers, cackles— soaring into the good night by the Grey mist. Clothes all torn; Worn; tightened with spider webs. Holding my grip by my wrinkled bare hands— Your gnarled roots all wet! Soaked; Below my slippers in the midst of silence, as my shadow trips on to your solemn face. Did you know? Did you know that I held you in my soft, young palms seventy years ago? I thank you, my precious dear ally, for keeping my wilted dead red rose warm, as my heart broke apart. Now it's time. For you shall engulf my stone dome grave with your gentle heart. For I shall close my eyes with my final breath. Before I ask you; Entomb it for me, will you?