The Beast's Hope
The Beast regards the Rose, recalls how once she was fair
Now she dies
Slowly, the death of one desperate for air
And so hungry
For love, but all to breath is despair
He watches hope wilt at her feet
She sheds blood-red petals as a mourner sheds tears
She cries
For empty months that had become heartless years
She feels
The curse drawing close; this fate she fears
Soon, in her glass tomb, hope shall die
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