Rose Requiem

In slumber, she is crowned with roses, A gentle queen of velvet night. Her lips, a whispered promise, A secret kept, a heart alight. The red roses, like passion's flame, Dance around her, a tender game. Her skin, a canvas, soft and fair, A masterpiece, beyond compare. In repose, she finds her strength, A beauty that, at once, is length. And in the roses, she is free, A spirit wild, a soul to be. The shadows play, upon her face, A chiaroscuro, a wondrous pace. The red roses, a symbol true, Of love, of passion, shining through.