The Reaping Crow

Walking home alone tonight,
Just me, myself and I,
No moon to guide my way,
And no stars up in the sky.

The streets are rather empty,
Of everything but dust,
No people that I know,
Or any that I trust.

Something doesn't feel right,
So I quicken up my pace,
And I pop my collar higher,
To cover up my face.

There is someone watching,
I feel it in my bones,
A chill runs down my spine,
My stomach weighed by stones.

High up in a tree,
I spot a little bird,
An evil looking crow,
That has followed me unheard.

With feathers black as night,
It spreads its wings apart,
And emits a screeching caw,
That stops my pacing heart.

Two onyx, beady eyes,
Staring straight at me,
Unflinching, gazing eyes,
That cause me to flee.

Away I go into the dark,
With hopes of safe escape,
But with a single, foolish glance,
I spot a trailing shape.

I panic and I tumble,
Fear etched in my mind,
As it circles far above,
I'm trapped and confined.

And with a sudden dip,
It dives down to the ground,
To the spot where I lay,
As if it's homeward bound.

Then right before my eyes,
As I take my final breath,
The bird changes shape,
Taking on the form of death.