The Black Rose

There is a rose so deep,so dark No glints of light or little spark Nay people lay their eyes on her They misconstrue her limpid care She is a rose on gothic tomb No lifeblood creeps her catacomb The moonbeams wish to give her life But every ray begets a strife There is a dead rose withering Spoiled by winter,putrefying Somehow,somewhere there's poetry That saw her with grim prodigy; A monolith of weird banshees The kinds that stirs the poetess. There is a black rose on the floor Quashed in the darkroom,evermore.