Borne on the breath of winter, flies Hallows Harbinger,

Black wings sealing summer's fate,

This ebony messenger, stormcrow of October,

"Caws," that winter won't wait,

And wings that push the chill winds upon us,

Are matched by the ice in his breast,

He is the messenger racing to tell us,

The news of summers death,

And his song is harsh, no more than a croaking,

As he mournfully pecks at summer's bones,

And leaves the remains stripped and broken,

Scattered upon the ageless stones,

This crow, this October, this carrion bird,

This relentless companion of death,

Will dutifully call to the waiting world,

As he soars on his cold master's breath,

"Run, fetch your coats, light all your fires,

My master will give no reprieve,"

  "Warm your hands at the funeral pyres,

For he comes this All Hallows Eve!"