In the shadowed night he dwells,
An angel grim with tales to tell.
His cloak, a river of endless sorrow,
Yet in his grasp, a hopeful tomorrow.
His skeletal wings devoid of light,
A spectral figure in the cold night.
In his chilling touch, an end foretold,
Yet peace unfolds in his silent hold.
Eyes of coal, tales they've seen,
Of love, life, and moments in between.
His presence may cause hearts to quiver,
Yet in each goodbye, love delivers.
A paradox, this angel of death,
Bringing end, yet renewing breath.
In his task, no joy or worth,
But a silent testament to life on Earth.
So, gaze upon this figure grim,
And see not end, but life within.
For every sunset by his hand,
Is dawn's promise in another land.
