The Witch King - a poem

A chill wind descends upon the land,
The night blacker then death,
And yet a shadow can be seen,
Drawing its dark breath,

A cry pierces the night,
Striking hearts with fear,
Suddenly the know,
That the witchking is here,

They try to run away,
Each attempt in vain,
For no one can escape,
for the death or from the pain,

But the a cock crows loud,
The night is nearly done,
The witchking's task is over,
So he shall flee the sun,

For the light is hope,
In the light is peace,
And the witchking can see none of these,
because his human greed.

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