Tim Poem by Thomas Kshetrimayum

The ravens wait and the crows sing for the scythe can be seen
Creeping from the cold damp door
For the the boy is dying and his dog wimping
Seeing the dark figure and smoke
His last teardrop falls as the lamp goes dark
His tormented face lightens as the final journey embarks
His eyes rolls ups seeing the dark void ahead
His calm voice whisper 'release me' From his cold damp bed
His face reveal the dark and sorrow vanishing from the sweet release of death.