Posted in Stories, Writing

The Black Rose March

Author’s note: Another in the Language of Flowers series.

 

I walk these empty halls

Like a shadow from a crack.

I knew that we were done

The moment the last rose turned black.

 

Your smell has all but faded,

No more posies must be bought.

Instead I’ll buy a coffin

To show that it was thought.

 

I promise not to move

Too quickly through the dark.

Monsters’ hands will grab me fast

And burn in deep your mark.

 

Baby’s breath is sweet

And bellflowers work nice too.

I’ll gather them together love,

But I’d rather send black roses up to you.

 

White clovers and carnations

Never cease to shine.

Blue violets add that extra touch,

But I think black roses will do fine.

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