Rose Child

There was a rose garden Vibrant and full of life The prince poured His love into the roses Every night. But the roses kept Pricking his fingers. His blood dripped Onto the floor They lapped it up Growing more and more Till the prince ran dry With no more blood to spill He left the roses To die on their hill. So full of fright they cried Every night till sunrise And from their grief A child was born Twisted and rotten A head full of thorns. They nurses the wretched child With the blood of the prince That was coursing inside. She sucked and sucked till the roses turned white as the moon hanging high in the sky. The roses withered as the last drop of blood left their veins. And down from hill the child did climb Searching for a reason for all the pain inside.