The Curse of Thorns

hush, sweet child, your fate is spun the blackened threads have just begun upon your brow a crown may gleam but dark things stir beneath the dream a spindle waits, a thorn’s caress a single drop—no more, no less and when it falls, so shall you sleep where shadows coil and secrets creep no lover’s kiss, no mother’s tear no whispered prayer shall reach you here the stars will pale, the dawn will die a kingdom lost to lullaby and I shall watch as roses fade their petals wilt in mournful shade for none shall wake, and none shall weep when love and light are mine to keep