Death Comes

I crept upon him,
late at night,
the lights dim,
none else in sight.

Wrapped in heat
his face aglow,
a sack of meat,
for my show.

Full of grace,
with no emotion,
off came his face,
with one motion.

He screamed a symphony,
like a newborn foal,
what sweet cacophony
as I took his soul.

There he lay,
troubled no more,
crumpled in hay.
I shut the door.