February 12th 2006

A child walks upon a path,
Which leads through a garden of roses;
White roses are stained with red,
From the dripping blood off her mother's face.

The child runs desperately towards her,
Trying to save her, but what could she do?
She took a complete red rose, and,
Held it to her heart, while tears crossed her cheeks.

She took her hand and held it,
Both hand and rose, both to her heart;
But that didn't save her,
And death tore her apart.

A lost blood tear spilled off her face,
As the child prayed in cries;
The tear fell on a pure rose,
Which would now hold a taint of pain.

She took this tainted rose,
Along with its roots;
Trying to make it live,
Trying to get her mother back.

The rose did not survive,
For the tear poisoned its being;
As her mother also poisoned hers,
By giving her birth.

The child found herself in a new place,
Of dark black roses;
With a wedding dress on,
Stained with blood.

She then realises that the dead pure rose,
Was her future being;
And she arose,
Watching time take its place.

It was not ther mother she tried to save,
But her, from herself.