The Blood Red Rose

A single perfect blood red rose,
Lays alone upon a battlefield,
The ground beneath it bathed in red,
Dead bodies strewn for miles,

The scent of death hangs in the air,
With rotting flesh and sorrow,
As rain comes from the heavens,
To cleanse away the sin,

The Devil has not left yet,
For black snake slinks through the grass,
Glossy black with thick red stripes,
And intent on only evil,

It winds around the stem,
Avoiding all the thorns,
To strangle, wither, cripple,
This single blood red rose,

The putrid odor of death and decay,
Still permeates the air,
On that mystery battlefield,
A black snake in the grass,

Ashen rose of Satan,
Sing the sorrow of your death,
In life you were a belle,
But now you’re lost to hell.