For Whom the Red Rose Mourns
With blood upon its thorns.
No one knows who placed it there,
Or for whom the red rose mourns.
Raindrops fall in disarray,
And mingle with the blood.
They twist and writhe in little pools,
And feed the yearning bud.
Granite cracks and crumbles,
And engravings fade away.
The flower blooms and multiplies
And thrives on the decay.
The red rose slowly withers,
And the petals disappear.
Though the clouds may shift and roll,
They always fail to clear.
A child stares down at a grave,
And runs a finger over the thorns.
She sits there slowly wondering,
For whom the red rose mourns.
Published by Adam Kamerer
I am an author making my way in life by publishing my work on the web. Aside from my AC work, I publish Penfencer.com, a blog for and about web novelists, and Gloria Fidelis: A Steampunk Fantasy, a serialize... View profile
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