Cinerous Drops of November Rain.

The wind sings a whistle, kissing the cold soil.
With the setting sun through the limbs, as it blushes in red.
It tosses the leaves, and turns the water.
And everything clears, making way for the dead.

A loud ting echoes, ringing out among the darkness,
While the stillness awaits the impending doom.
The knife is laid on the ground, silently resting.
Dripping with juice, and leaking his gloom.

Straight through the heart, struck the dullish point.
In the blink of an eye, gifting a pupil-sized hole.
His body motionless, it was only the offering.
A gruesome remnant, with a harvested soul.

The wind now screamed, whipping up the forest.
Leaves scattered among the bleak scene and its wake.
After expressing its anger, it sighed with a chill...
From the bloodied corpse, mimicked the sigh of a wraith.