Luscious red
amongst the ashen flower
crimson free
of
the stark white towers
If beauty were a currency
It’s only equal would be the peace
of perennial power
long live thyne blossoming flower
The Lily,
pale, next to it its crimson neighbor
opening wide, exposing everything to her, in fervor
whilst her counterpart, hides away, in her dungeon below
The Rose,
stoic, after years of living alone
her thousand sentinel army
never near enough to comfort the sentiments of her soul
The powers that be
could not contain thee
God shed his light
his love they can not see
The season has come
for Death’s cloak to reign
over the dominion
the golden sovereignty, The Garden Nation