A most uncommon death, to be killed by a rose
Though death could be no more pleasant than this way I suppose
This tale could intrigue the eye of the moon
For the beauty of this rose could make the sun gloom

One day the sun awakened to greet the morning air
But only to gleam jealousy of the radiance in her hair
And the moon saw her bloom as a Lily in the night
She caused the stars to rain upon earth to drink in the sight

She smiled and took the breath of my heart
Like an angel with God’s grace, she lit up the dark
Though peculiar a rose, like any she grew with thorns
And with the enchantment of the ocean she raged still as the sea in scorn

Tender as the soft silk of her skin she hid her heart away
A rose that smelt as sweet as honey, but would soon fade in vain
Her tears glimmered in the sparkle of her beguiling eyes
The world could not withstand her might, so the world she despised

I tried so hard to assuage the pain and the sorrow that would follow
She wilted and withered, knowing not of this day my chest would soon be hollow
A day I remember, though not in spite, for I did not perish in her fire
Only did my heart lose its greatest divinity and desire

This death is ageless and eternal, far worse than the depths of hell
I live as only a case for a heart, existing as a hollow shell
This obituary remains nameless to stand for those who know
That it was worth to love and lose than to have never loved a rose