Rose Requiem

In the depths of slumber, she is crowned with roses, A monarch of beauty, in a dreamless repose. The red blooms surround her, a fiery halo, As if the passion of life had been distilled into their petals. Her lips, a rosebud's promise, inviting and sealed, Her skin, a canvas of porcelain, untouched and unrevealed. The roses whisper secrets, their scent a gentle breeze, That stirs the soul, and awakens the heart's deep pleas. In this serene tableau, she is the epitome of grace, A vision of loveliness, in a world of time and space. The roses, like sentinels of love, stand guard around her head, A symbol of the beauty, that in slumber, is not dead. For in the stillness, there is a beauty that transcends, A peace that surpasses, the turmoil of mortal ends. And when she wakes, the roses will remain, A testament to the serenity, that in sleep, she gained.