In the early hour, there's a moving power coming over the hill,
coming through the still. In the distant dark, there's a distant shrill,
the cry of a crow from his angry bill, and the distance fills with his angry will.

Amidst the thrill, a single leaf has stayed the night without his sleep and tarries weak amidst the scream, amidst the moving awful thing.

Amidst the night, he lasted on, the single leaf has kept and held on sweetly tight and proven him adept, till atrophy that comes and comes and coming passed, and brothers/sisters fell at last, their weaker numbers grown to mass of all, save one there holding;

Amidst the fate of gravity was only he, left quivering; the single leaf, so heavy hung, so held his grip, his song now sung, his tongue now old, his body weak, his manner mild and godly meak, so inherit he the earth and tree,

But naught, anon, he's shivering, and hardly on amidst the fog and uncut, holding, low-hung dawn that conduits the raucous shriek unto the leaning, naked, tree to tempt the tired, lonely leaf; and there he quivers, just like me.

This distant cry, like arrow nigh, flies pierced, screeching, aiming high upon the point of waking death, at stem to branch. And, so resolves him, so it be; if this is all that he or I can feel or see, and if so here that hearing we, amidst the call of enemy, should fall alone departed, so it be.

So set our hearts and so congeal our soul to hold our earthly mold in one more stay amidst the black, amidst one more day's squalor-ed attack, amidst one more cackling of beasty's voice, and once more yield our souls in choice to kneel before heaven gritting against devils--what a choice!

Though, we quiver harder and more than know the stealing pull and force, that, full and graven, is the goal of teeth a thousand strong, which open to the call of the bird's one yell-ed song;

And though the earthbound Supper, with his cavernous mouth and cavernous hunger for his cavernous couch to be full of supernally fallen things, so opens his cavernous ears to the scream of the ravenous beckoning manifest raven-oused obscene gravitas;

And though, of that suboscine ilk of ill dignity, Gravity thus hears and he takes in the beckoning, waiting through echoes like arrows for reckoning finish-ed work waits he,
for the fateful drop of the Quivering and continues his listening.

until...
the echoes settle dark and still.

In the early hour, there's a moving power coming over the hill, coming through the still; through the heavy haze of a thousand sprites in a demon shroud remained from night as the second night 'ore the morning light -a ceiling,

There sets the foggy air, its residue to loom and loom, till looming echoes once a tomb become a tone unheard, undone. And every shadow of the sun beneath the fog rests darkly; Something comes.

In shadows silent, something shows, something distance cannot know yet, but shows in shiftings bad intent; and croon creshendoes, strengthed hum, and something moves, and something comes,

From woody black, so silent, tall, and true as sin in depth and all darkness,_there the deadened cry ignites the trees into a spark of winged beasts_into the shroud, and darting in and down and out they start there coming, coming down in this direction with the whispered sounds with every horrid inch of forward motion.

There, in the early hour, there's a moving power coming over the hill,
coming through the still...