In the distance, the tree is standing,
Roots delving deep into the soil,
Twisted trunk, bark black with age,
Each branch a contorted limb
Reaching for the distant sky above.
A lonely crow perches, legs stick-thin,
Claws grasping at the skeletal branch beneath.
Dead tree, carrion bird you mark the gateway,
The boundary between what is and what shall be,
Keepers of the gate, listen to my song
And open the door.