In the graveyard, shadows weaving, where the mourners, softly grieving,
Come to whisper, hearts still heaving, for the souls that lie below.
I, a figure dark and looming, with my gaze in twilight blooming,
In the gloom, with eyes consuming, watch the sorrowed ebb and flow.
In the twilight’s haunting splendor, with a heart both cold and tender,
In the trees, my wings engender, silent flight through air so still.
Form distorted, softly gleaming, in the dusk, with senses teeming,
I survey, with presence seeming, all the mourners’ bitter thrill.
Through the branches, softly gliding, in the twilight’s veiled abiding,
I, with owls, am softly hiding, watching over those who weep.
In the stillness, sorrow’s binding, hearts with loss and grief confining,
In the dusk, ever finding, secrets that the mourners keep.
In the night’s embrace, I’m dwelling, with the cold breath, darkness spelling,
In the gloom, my soul is telling tales of sorrowed, silent kin.
Eyes like embers, softly glowing, in the dusk, with knowledge showing,
In the stillness, ever flowing, through the graveyard’s haunted din.
With the mourners, softly sighing, for the dead, in earth now lying,
In the twilight, ever spying, I, the watcher, hold my gaze.
Through the graves, the wind is shifting, with the leaves, the silence sifting,
In the dusk, my heart is lifting, to the mourners’ sorrowed praise.
I, no home, in shadows keeping, with the owls, in silence reaping,
Through the twilight, ever sweeping, in the graveyard’s solemn realm.
In the dusk, my wings are beating, with the night, my soul is meeting,
In the silence, softly fleeting, in the dark, where I am helm.
Through the dusk, the mourners leaving, with their hearts, in silence cleaving,
In the gloom, I watch, believing, in the sorrow that they bear.
I, with eyes like embers burning, with the heart of night’s discerning,
In the dusk, with knowledge learning, all their grief and dark despair.
In the twilight’s haunting whisper, in the dusk, my heart’s dark luster,
I, with owls, in shadows muster, watching, ever silently.
With the mourners, softly grieving, through the night, my soul retrieving,
In the dusk, with senses weaving, I, the watcher, ever be.
In the graveyard, shadows weaving, where the mourners, softly grieving,
Come to whisper, hearts still heaving, for the souls that lie below.
I, a figure dark and looming, with my gaze in twilight blooming,
In the dusk, with eyes consuming, watch the sorrowed ebb and flow.