By Ilya Stotland

A shame, t'was not I

Who could love you forever

I dream up a noise

The faint stir of a tether


My lovely Katrina

You neglect my existence

Not my heart, but a pulse

Gently sounds in the distance


Oh dearly beloved

Why you love me no longer

From deep in the woods

sounds a beat, growing stronger


In the moonlitten brush

A black crow sits mocking

Yet the din that I loathe

Never stalls, gently stalking


I fear I sense death

Yes, there must be some poaching

Now the beat in the woods

sounds in threes, fast approaching


The warmth leaves my limbs

I may sense the end coming

T'was not a parade

and there is no more drumming


The grand marshal halts

Let the crow reawaken

I will miss you Katrina

Know your love was mistaken