Daraish: Not a thing

A black bird circles the corners of the night,

Unseen and indistinct in your darkness.

It fears nothing, nor cares for blame,

Nor will it turn back if you strike it with your staff.

If it seeks you on a day when the sky is overcast,

It will brandish its talons and heed not your pleas.

Would that it sent omens before its strikes,

A sign by which you would know it has come for you today.

How many resolute souls has it taken,

Causing the world to tremble when conflict erupts.

If you reflect: nothing on earth is permanent,

All things are left behind as you move forward.

Days once were a celebration,

Now they are but crumbs in your meal.

What good is it if you plundered spoils of war,

When you cannot carry the booty with you?