• In the Raven's Haven
    A monster silently sleeps
    Sharpening his scythe
    Awaiting the moment to reap

    This monster is familiar to us all
    We know him as grief and pain
    We call him the grim reaper
    And from our loss, he will gain

    The sound of death rings in his ears
    As a smile forms on his teeth
    He grabs his scythe and he grabs his cloak
    And heads out into the street

    He glides effortlessly
    Under shadow he lurks
    Creeping so very silently
    All the while keeping his smirk

    For today is a special occasion
    That dosen’t often come by
    instead of killing someone old,
    A little boy is going to die

    His name is little Timmy
    He has cancer of the lung
    He can’t be but three or four
    His life has just begun

    The mother and father are at his side
    As the ventilator takes a breath
    Doing its best to keep him alive
    To keep away impending death

    At 10:45 the reaper arrived
    Upon the hospital door
    And by 10:47 he had made his way
    To little Timmy’s floor

    He lurked through the silent halls
    Without a single breath
    In search of the hospital room
    Where Mr. Timothy slept

    By 10:50 on the dot
    He slid into the room
    The family of Timmy unknowing
    Of the ever impending doom

    Death stood at the door
    enjoying the moment so dear
    A mother and father protecting their son
    As their heartbeats thump with fear

    He walked towards the bed
    And stairs at Timmy's face
    To kill such a beautiful boy
    Was rather a disgrace

    This disgrace is what make death smile
    As 10:59 ticked around
    And by 11:00 o'clock that very night
    Little Timmy was heaven bound

    Death continued to smile
    As he exited the room
    Cleaning Timmy's blood off his scythe
    By the light of the crescent moon

    The reaper glided back down the street
    Back to his haunted home
    Where souls of people that he deceased
    Go back to freely roam


    When he arrived back to his house
    And flipped upon the light
    He couldn't believe his blackened eyes
    It was a truly horrifying sight

    In his house there was a boy
    Who couldn't be but three or four
    Waiting silently in the dark
    Sitting upon the floor

    His name was little Timmy
    Death recognized him well
    The image conjured fear in death
    As cold as fiery hell

    For Timmy shouldn't have been in deaths house
    But in heaven to play and roam
    But instead of an eternity of fun
    Little Timmy had haunted him home