Black flowers grow in pure white snow
Upon a lost and lonely grave
And a name demolished long ago
Belongs to poor forgotten knave
No one cared a whit for him
Save one, he died, alone, in fear
No one recalls what he was called… same one
Who calls on him once each year
Late at night owls wings in flight
A waifish girl with skin of pearl
Lays down faint tracks in pale moonlight
A denizen of the spectral world
They called him knave, ‘twas more like slave
His hands were calloused, morals solid, always there
‘Twas only one thing that he doth crave
A slender girl with flaxen hair
Such a dare, a girl most fair, daughter of mighty King
Yet she knew she loved him too, longing for his roughhewn touch
In stardust chill, he summoned will presented her with paltry ring
They loved as doves cooed above forever the other oh so much
‘Twas one week and a day when deception was uncovered
A King enraged it was decreed that wretched knave would greet death
His darling, dearest condemned herself for stealth discovered
‘Til, aged in flesh… his name upon, her final breath
‘Tis once a year in crescent’s shine a waifish girl with flaxen hair
Tip-toes on silvery carpet’s glow
To place crossed roses, crimson red…a matching pair
That turn to black…in falling flakes of pure white snow
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