Death Claims Beauty

Water_witch-2by Abigael02 Nov 2013

Pale as a white rose
a little face on the pillow,
your blond curly hair,
foliage of the rose.

Birth is nothing
but death begun,
yet we expect the span
to run 
more years than three.

A little heart
to be impaled by death -
before cupid's dart
and other joys
she will never know.

We conceal our pain
hold back the tears
to match your bravery.
and talk softly -

smile

to convey our love,

The Grim Reaper
takes her— lovely
as the petals of a rose.