Rose Requiem

In twilight's hush, where shadows softly fall, A vision blooms, a roseate, ethereal call. The woman sits, a statue of serene despair, Her lips, a crimson whisper, beyond compare. The roses, like rubies, glow with inner light, A fiery halo, that dances through the night. Her skin, a porcelain doll, so pale and still, Reflects the moon's pale glow, a gentle, loving will. The roses, they whisper secrets, of love and of pain, As she sits, lost in thought, her heart a heavy chain. In this dark, velvet space, she finds her peaceful nest, A sanctuary, where love and sorrow find their rest. The roses, they surround her, a protective, thorny might, A symbol of the beauty, that blooms in the dark of night. Her eyes, closed, as if in prayer, or in deep sleep, Invite the viewer, to a world, where love and dreams do creep. In this, her rose requiem, she finds her peaceful shore, A place, where love and sorrow, forever roar.