A rose of lustrous black sits in a field of nothing but grey,
When shall it bloom, the marvelous color that so entices me.
Thy thorns pierce my tender flesh,
Blood dripping from small unhealable mends.
Bud of darkening black as the night is young,
When will you blossom into a rose?
Beauty is but eternal sleep; your stem is of an ashy essence,
Everything about thee makes me want you to blossom.
The day you finally open, what joy you will fill me with,
Your petals are soft to my smooth skin,
Your beauty is everlasting.
My rose, when will you blossom,
I have waited forever to see your beauty,
Whether it is inner or outer makes no difference to me,
Love is all I have to give,
Oh sweet rose how much love I give to thee.