Grief and a Rose

There's a deep, dark flower with thorns to pierce

The flesh of him who near to it draws

To pluck one flowery bud with tears

For a loved one passed, eyes red, throat raw.

For a single drop of blood so dark

Falls softly to the ground below

To remind the lover, to leave a mark,

Of the putrid sorrow which in him grows.

The pain of loss, heart split in two,

An ugly hole, a gaping jaw,

A dagger wound never made new,

To rob the lover of his love.

So many grieving down-trod souls

Have come to pick a blood red rose.