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Allee
Black
Black looks like a life leaving a man’s eyes
Black sounds like the last whisper of breath
Black smells like death is coming
Black taste like decaying flesh
Black is the feeling you get at the end of it all
The death of princes is
Honoured most greatly,
Proud kings put purple on
In manner stately.
Though they have lived such life
As God offends,
Gone fearful down to death,
Sick, without friends.
And in the temple dim,
Trumpets of gold
Proclaim their glory; so
Their story is told.
In sentimental hymns
Weeping her dolour,
The mother of heroes wears
Vile black--Death’s colour,