There you lay, lips cold and unmoving,
While the reaper his wits forever improving.
And oh, how you were too good for this world,
Death saw this and so, his cloak unfurled.
And how he must smile and how he must sneer,
That the rose has wilted; and is no longer here.
Your rays shone down in a tremendous light,
But death said; "put it out, return to the night."
Reaper with his scythe and his shadow so grim,
Took and drowned you before you could swim.
There goes your ship, laden with flowers,
Burning their petals while he watches for hours.
And how he does know as you lay cold in your bed,
The sweet scent that sickens him is now gone and dead.
Upon his first glance, he knew you wouldn't stay,
For how can a rose grow in a world full of grey?
Yes, how he will laugh and how he will gloat,
As upwards your lanterns eternally float.
Yet when you were cut, you left a stem behind,
And this blossom is one that death will never find.
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