Crimson rivers trace whiter shade,

Drops of crimson borne of blade,

The grinning moon sharp as blade,

Silhouette cast encased in shade.

This face reflective in moonlight glow,

These veins which purge the living flow,

Those eyes like bulbs of nightshade hue,

Their light is drawn not cast anew,

Not blown of glass but softer still,

Torn from grasp of seer's will,

Their gaze eternal, their lids uncurled,

To long forever in space unfurled.

Unfurled to fault and withered joy,

To call a man, to cull a boy,

Joined with grass amidst the dew,

One breath at last to join the few.

And moonlight grin for sharp reveal

The reddened hand which signed the deal

With flourish spun corpulent signature

To bribe the end and bow calligrapher.

The silhouette cast encased in shade,

This palm of fingers wrapped to blade,

Its edge which shivers crimson bade,

No motive known, no shape to lathe.