• Roses in my garden
    reaching out to me
    they beg my parden
    i shall not take
    i will not shake
    the last of thy black roses

    they yearn and moan
    wishing to be picked
    hear them groan
    as i pass by
    will no one sing them a lullaby
    sweet black rose
    i shall not pick thee
    but other roses think otherwise

    They plot and scheme
    after the scene
    of thy black rose and i
    i walk by thy roses
    all drooping low
    a sad tear rolls down their petals

    I go to thy roses
    they have wilted away
    i turn as the last black rose
    drops its last black petal