Challenge
Scythe
Times up.
The Death
Sparkles sizzle when its bony hand strokes
the blood-stained scythe that flutters in its might
and I hear the creaking sound night by night
while its obscure face a grimy cloth cloaks.
And night by night I pale and shake in fear
that your almighty scythe will end my life
but you just calmly sit there, free from strife
sharpening your tool, then you disappear.
Then one cold December night you appear,
take off your cloak, revealing face so vile
my body freezes to its spiteful smile
my pulse dying to the cold touch of steel.
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