The Tempest Flower
She sits alone, ever so alone
on a cold rocky sill
Sleeping on in winter dreaming
hoping to remain still
There are wolves little child of mine
wolves out on the hunt
breathe softly little pretty one
they come in swift upon the runt
you are a tasty dish tempest flower
sweet to the touch
lock yourself away tonight up in your bower
spare thyself of the feast of devils that crave for too much
fly away if you must, just never come back
orchids will rise from your seat upon the snow
prick your fingers on the petals black
and let bleed your soul to let go
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