A Creeping Sickness

The trees and leaves shine bright in the light of day. 
The owls and mice run rampant through the night.
The clouds and streams race by the shiny bay, 
and no one living knows of any blight.

All that lives thrives in this vast, great haven.
Even the long-lifeless know not of pain.
All give, take and tell stories till graven, 
a world in which nothing and no one is bane.

Long this world has remained in kind favour,
yet it's come to pass in these recent years,
this world's prosperity shall soon waver, 
come to wake have long-forgotten fears. 

As slowly but surely death creeps on by, 
this poor world's sickness shall not let it fly. 
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