And phantoms grasp,
Where ghosts stand
And skeletons gasp;
Stands the matriarch of animated death.
Great arms spread,
Powerful and dark,
Embracing dead land,
Sentinel of the stark,
Protecting her children of living death.
Inducing great dread,
Haunting the very air,
Grasping grim and grand,
Maintaining the shady lair
Watching over her wards, the waking death
Her thirst is fed,
The insatiable sated,
A gloomy demand,
To maintain what is fated,
Defending the haven of mourning death.
Rooted in her bed,
Gnarled limbs eery,
Twisted by command,
Resolute and unweary,
Succoring her seed: immortal death. Ω
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