Petal soft bloom and sweet smelling doom, Lures with subtle scent.
Specters surround, without any sound,
Within the worlds they invent.
The garden of death, claims all breath, Of those who choose to stay.
Under misted moonlight, flower's stinging sweet bite, The ultimate price to pay.
Ivory bones decay in fields of ebon gray, Remnants of captured fools.
The smell of rotting marrow thick on crypt and barrow, Seeps from dusk-darkened pools.
The ghostly sun lifts, over Solaash it drifts, Illuming the final hour.
The red sparrow sings, spreads crimson wings, And seeks the iron tower.
March 18 1996