His hand reaches for me.
He wants me for The Dead.
I won’t yield to his call.
He wants me in his bed.
I’m surrounded by his kind.
Their cries echo in the night.
He moves closer from the sky.
Oh, what a beautiful sight.
He’s a creature of the night.
I’m crazy to want him so.
I can’t resist his sad face.
He is not a friend but foe.
THE DEAD GAME
SUSANNE LEIST 
Thank you, Susanne, I am 81 and am following my dream of writing, too!
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It’s never too late to begin writing. I also started late in life. Good luck!
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Thank you for sharing.
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