A rose lies here
In thy hand
still moist
With dew
Glistening
Ah...
Sweet beauty
How fragile art thee
How weak art thee
And yet...
The blood still
Falleth freely
From ye thorns
From which
I hath been pricked...
I hope to be like thee
To die
And leave thy mark
In someone's mind
Now...
I shall sharpen thy thorns.
I like it too. It's short, but good. And I like the 16th century olde english :D
I like it too. It's short, but good. And I like the 16th century olde english :D