A Roses PoisonA Roses Poison
Swaying strings to and fro,
The puppet master has his show.
Roses thrown on the stage,
His puppets slowly grow in rage.
Yet he keeps them moving,
And the show must go on.
-For her, that is.
Counting roses here and there
Suddenly crowds the stage. So have fear-
A special gift from his dark beloved,
A tinted rose, stained of black.
He holds so tightly in his mouth,
Teeth showing greatly, but slowly frowning.
Swaying strings, but somewhat faster-
So has become the great puppet master.
For the rose was of poison,
And now the deadly liquid ran down.
It trickled out of his mouth
Past his chin and onto his puppets.
Laughing and gesturing, for the show was still going.
But the puppet master faint, still not knowing.
A pool of poison now took the stage.
His puppets lying, looking sage.
For he lay so still, as if a puppet of showbiz.
Played by his love, the keeper of roses.