In October

It is sometime in October,
And I hear the harlet song
Of the crows among the trees;
Raspy voices singing long.

While the cool breeze chills my neck,
And the sun falls down in sprays
I stop to look high for a moment,
I should have stayed in bed today.

But the sun came falling down
On my sleeping eyes this morn,
And to wake beside no one
Makes a bed as mine forlorn.

When I came to see the grounds,
And have breakfast at his table
I did not expect my spirits
To be so carefully disabled.

So I took my coat from the hanger
And walked outside in anger;
Never does a man feel brave
When he rises to dig a grave.

So I plunged my heavy shovel
Into the cold October ground.
When I stopped to take a breath
The crows were no longer around.

The cold, brown steel against the earth
Was all that I could hear.
As the grave began to form
The mortal wound whispered in my ear.

And so I did, late on this day
Give rest to another who has gone away.
And now I can tell you, by my hands cold and sore,
Death comes for the dead, but it takes so much more.