Just something I wrote. I don't know if it's any good but let me know what you think. Waiting On The Crows See the gravedigger; He patrols with idle hands, Waiting for the devil’s footsteps And the breaking of the earth. Dwelling on the dying years, He files away their sleeping bones Where the dead lay interred In jars of clay and cairns of stone. With his old steel spade, Rusted by time and dented with work, He waits for the last page of a year To fall from the calendar. Then with chisel and hammer He carves slabs of marble for the dead, And when the ground closes it’s mouth, He files their names into his head. But knowing only how to die; He speaks only with the dying, Crippled in their ruined beds, Withered from all of their crying. The years bleed him of pain; The days bleed him of hope. In deaths solemn company There comes a cold before the freeze; Like a ship under the swell He sinks into the bitter sleep of apathy. This is a place for free men, he says, Where ghosts speak in voices low; Where every tomorrow is slave to a yesterday And all is spent waiting on the crows.