Midnight Rose Mourner

In the depths of shadows, she weeps for love's demise, A midnight mourner, surrounded by crimson sighs. The roses, like tears, fall around her, a dark refrain, As she bends, her sorrow, a heavy, heart-wrenching strain. Her eyes, downcast, veil the pain she cannot hide, The wind whispers secrets, as her hair gently sways inside. The lace of her garment, a delicate, mournful shroud, Echoes the fragility of love, now lost, now proud. In this moment, she is lost, consumed by grief's dark sea, Yet, in her sorrow, a beauty, wild and free, is set free. The roses, red as passion, red as love's last flame, Lie broken, like her heart, in this, her sorrow's name. The world around her fades, a blurred, darkened stage, As she, the protagonist, plays out love's tragic page. In every petal, a memory, a moment shared, A bittersweet reminder of love that's left unspared. Her beauty is a sorrow, a melancholy, haunting grace, A reflection of the pain that time cannot erase. And in her eyes, when finally she looks up, we see, A depth of sorrow, a story of love, wild, and free.