The night was dark,
the wind was cold.
The shadows deep,
the stranger, bold.

He crept slowly,
his breath quiet.
His knife was drawn,
his hand, upright.

His victim lay there,
unsuspecting prey.
Little did he know,
for him, there was no day.

The knife came down,
into his throat.
His last breath was taken,
muffled by his own blood.

The assassin left,
unseen, unheard.
Then was all still,
even the birds.