the stars in her eyes vanished,  a stillness touched our abode  as into a slumber she sank.  was it the wintery wail,  or just the numbness of death  that gave our skins pinpricks?  else, the menacing tall shadows,  clambering across  candlelit walls  to whisper adieux in her ears.  as her bier, they bore away, ghastly shapes their breathes made, in the middle of that night.  not a soul tiptoed across. not a pane lit, nor scurried mice, through silent streets, when they strode.  all smelt of death; except fingers moving rosary beads;  and revelling raven-like men.