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My love has left me,

And I mourn.

My love has left me,

Like the willow-

Bent and forlorn.

My love has left me,

But I do not scorn.

My love has left me,

And she is gone.

The roses in the garden

Are no longer ghostly pale-

Red as blood,

As blood is red,

And dawn is blue. 

How curious.

How curious-

The ripening of the roses.

Once virgin snow,

Now red as dawn

In furious glow. 

I sit beside them,

Where they stand vigil

In silent rows.

I see them spattered red-

In moonlight’s glow.

Cold metal in my hand-

Red as the rose petals,

Glinting like a predator’s tooth

In the starlight’s pose.

In terror,

I cast it away.

Where has my love gone?

Why am I alone?

I place my hands

On the newborn mound

Just beyond my feet.

With trembling hands

Stained with petals,

I pluck a rose

And softly ask:

Does she still love me?

But the rose only wilted.