It whispers through the trees

On a breeze that's fresh and light.

Flames flicker fitfully

As it passes through the night.

Dogs go strangely quiet

As it gently drifts on by,

And people turn in their sleep

In the wake of its sigh.

It weaves,

Meandering to and fro,

As if on some dark quest,

Never pausing,

'Til at last,

It finally comes to rest.

It hovers briefly above the child,

Who stirs and murmurs low,

Then, with almost a caress,

The babe's enveloped in its glow.

The child draws breath

And sucks in death,

A vague smile darkens its face.

And a distant rumble celebrates

A new host - the Human Race.