White roses, my lady, are my gift to you.
Silk petals of snow bearing pearl tips of dew.
A beauty unrivalled, nonpareil, seductive.
Delightfully mocking and uniquely destructive.

Without care for time, with solace in new forms,
We thrive in lesser deaths and weather each new storm.
Stalking harvests of the newborn, hidden in the masks they wear,
We feast upon the fervour and stare enthralled by their despair.

To dance beneath stars, enflamed by passion’s cry,
We’ll reap our stolen throne and weep a lullaby.
So fear not, my lady, these petals shall be saved
And witness in the twilight mist them grow atop new graves.

~~

Red roses, my lord, hold my thoughts of you.
Barbed petals of blood with enticements so true.
A splendour unchallenged, perfected, undaunted.
Wrapped tight amongst thorns where admirers are taunted.

The passage of time has brought sorrow and sin
A betrayal of the brother and those of our kin.
Spinning threads of the fated, ever seeking each new day,
I yearn to stall the changes and end this dirge I play.

Awaiting rapturous solace, to the songs of distant home,
For the seat entwined beside yours, ‘til the time we’ll call our own.
So know this, my lord, until we reunite
I’ll find comfort in your memory, and in your love – delight.