A portent of Fall, the black crow stirs
To remind us all - approacheth October!
His hoarse, avian call brings about chills
The temperate drink and drunks get sober
Lately, I awaken in bed at night
Unable to move, contracted with fright
I can’t release my poor chest for a breath
My sheets are bunched up and fist-twisted tight
What torments me so with its taunting?
It has hold of me, won’t stop its haunting-
An insistent task I cannot forget
The duration of which is quite daunting
It chases me all through my dreams
With horns and a pitchfork, extreme
I toss and I force myself to awake
With a gasp, I choke back my . . .
Well, you know.
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