Upon a Dead Rose Dying
It’s naught that brought my sad heart here.
It’s to life itself we cohere.
I attest you grew from year to year.
In triumph you would reappear.
In those times ago she was here.
Unbound to her, our deaths, I fear.
Without her craft you’ll not survive.
Without her love I’m doomed to die.
What can be done to save our lives?
Our souls half dead, will we revive?
Her wicked ways marked you to thrive.
Her miracle love kept me alive.
Oh, most withered rose I dread
somehow that we will both be dead.
Nightmares hasten through my head.
Your tainted blossom droops as lead.
Thee, with this knife, I shall behead
I then, to gallows, shan’t be led.