Black Rose

Her skin was as white as the pearl of the moon

Her lips were a crimson wine

Her ebony hair, like a widow's shroud

And her face was of beauty devine.

On her black satin gown was a single black rose

And she held a black rose in her hand

As she stood on the cliff, she looked down at the sea

A black shadow against the sand.

With a few words upon a paper

She stepped boldly off the edge

Like a teardrop, she made never a sound

As she plummeted off the ledge.

There was no one there to mourn her loss

No one's heart to bare her woe

As she case herself away from this world

And fell to the rocks below.

There were black roses scattered on the beach

Black roses tossed on the waves

And the note beside her body read,

"Please lay a black rose on my grave."

Author's Note

I blame this one on being read things like "The Wreck of the Hesperus" as a bedtime story. But (guilty pleasure) I love tragic Victorian poetry and it seeps out every so often.

Reviews

[Ron]

Love this. Reminds me so much of black and white films Bette Davis, Jennifer Jones and the like. Definite strains of the "Highwayman" epic too. Makes the reader curious as to the motives of the suicide. In this case it may not be love alone. What a wonderful change that would be. The period description is particularly strong. Glad I peeped at the new writing tonight!

I love the imagery. I can imagine it in my head as I read it. My favorite line: "Like a teardrop, she made never a sound"