fairweather-mourning

Graveyard Roses

I stole some graveyard roses for you,
Some red, red, roses for you.
They were in full bloom,
Arranged perfectly in a crystal vase over
Bartleby’s tomb.
I knew they’d be perfect for you.
You know it’s over-
You knew it was over-
So I brought a parting gift.
But I kept one of the roses.
There were thirteen of them,
But I didn’t want you to have any bad luck-honestly,
No hard feelings, only empty ones-so
I held onto one of them and it sits
A dried, dead shade of its former, passionate beauty.