The Council of Vultures

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Orphic Elegy

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On a dreary December Tuesday morning
The Council of Vultures attended the wake
They dined with fervor on cold remains
And buried their beaks in coffee and cake

They brought their unsavory appetites
Hunched and leering, they scratched and hissed
And between swallows of mellowed gore
Muttered to one another
"He will be missed, he will be missed"

They regarded each other in resentment and fear
With sepulcher eyes and gravestone gaze
They knew the Council would come for them too
In the terror and agony of their last days

Once he'd dipped his head a bit,
The Master of Ceremonies called all to heel
A eulogy had to be delivered
Otherwise, it was just a meal

With glossy black feathers and thin belly skin
An ordered assemblage formed at the wake
The speaker ascended the rotting corpse
And to the gaggle of bloody sneers, he spake

"He was a strong one, this one
His hunger for carrion was deep
There wasn't a carcass fetid enough
It could wither his urge to eat

"Whenever he was seen, it was at a feast
No stranger was he to ordeal
It was as though he was drawn to pain
And ever was death at his heels
Ever was death at his heels

"Never did he fail to find fault in life
And ever did he dwell in grey
You could always count on him to declare
'There are no shadows on a cloudy day'"

Bellies full, and hearts empty
They stretched their wings and departed the wake
They went separate ways
For the Council of Vultures does not good company make

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