The Scarlet Rose

To love one so fair, is but a mystery to me, To be able to charish someone, Tis' a fantasy. Her hair as autumn as the sunrise, that rises from the east, Down to her smile as crescent as the moon so sweet. Shining bright as her personality, so caring, so gentle. All was bliss until the painful crescendo, Holding her hand while death leaves his sting. All the while gazing into her viridescent forest, Watching the fall consume her spectral spring. Alas my scarlet rose! may heaven celebrate your harvest, While the master mends my sorrow. I'll be spending my days in the garden, Awaiting to see thee in the morrow.