The Rose

Delicate little thing in bloom,

How short your life will be.

You shall serve purpose

For games of cruelty that

One who is bored plays.

Your soft beauty, yet

Your strong stem

Will show that you are perfect

For Her dark purpose.

Skies weep for you,

Poor unfortunate thing, but

What can they do?

No one can save the foolish humans,

Why should anything save you?