Alone at tranquil twilight,
A distant church bell tolls.
The wind forms a ghostly choir,
To summon lost and wayward souls.
Snow drifts down from the heavens,
Like ghosts lost in the night,
And ice crystals cling to trees,
To set the woods aglow with light.
Along a forgotten forest path,
There stands an arch of ancient stone,
And amidst the hallowed ruins,
A solemn figure stands alone.
Snow comes to rest on raven's wings,
Covering black quills in ivory white,
And peace settles upon the earth,
Beneath the ebon shroud of winter's night.