Picking up the rose that fell from his hands.
Morosely she plucked the petals one by one.
Sending with each a memory, too painful to recall.
Tears shed, releasing solemn vows to be with him again.
A cemetery was no place for her love to be.

All she wanted was revenge for the love that was taken.
All the beauty, stolen from her.
Only a marble statue and his haunting features,
To remind her of his beautiful face.

“He loves me not…”

Here’s to all the kisses that brought me to life,
When death seemed so imminent.
Where do they all lead now?
When mortality has already claimed the love I crave.

With a final petal hanging in the balance,
And her heart suspended with it.
A slight breeze came and blew it away.

And all the rose petals lay,
Littered on the tombstone of a grave.
In the form of a heart around his name.
His eternal testament for only my eyes to see.

“He loves me…”