Eyes lightless and lacking
in a face of skinless bone;
cloaked in a veil of black,
wields a scythe of cold steel.
Tall and twisted in grimace,
formless and timeless;
from the dawn of fire,
marching ice has crept.
A feeble form the flames took,
quenched by the vast and empty,
burning through all, ever colder,
till death do the embers dull.