Death at my Door

A Raven’s feather on my pillow,
the horror of this dark surprise.
Tis a sign of death to come,
of someone wishing for my demise.

Who could it be that I have failed,
who could wish for this terrible fate.
To plan and to scheme of murdering me,
how could I bring about this hate.

I know not what it is that sets you so,
pray, tell me what it is I have done.
Please give me the pleasure of righting this wrong,
before the setting of the sun.

I heard a noise behind me and turned,
to see a Raven perched on my mirror.
He must have come through the open window,
and now things are made the clearer.

He has loose feathers, one fell as I watched
him leave as he had come.
And though I had imagined death at my door,
glad tidings that this thing is done.

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