THE BLACK ROSE
THE BLACK ROSE A fell bird spits; my gold rose wails Ice rots her glow and rays of love Her body is puce; tar spews from boils it stabs blest eyes that dim to die. A foul song whines; the foe gnaws flesh to gild his nest with gems of rout. His iron mob pulps the air stung red Barbs rage in trees and... Sign in to see full entry.