This grave is now all I have of you ,
In silence and grief I think of you .
Where once our dreams they all came true ,
for now in death you depart .

A shallow pale leaves no earthly light ,
but for now at least you are shining bright ,
with God and his Angels and all that is true ,
so here is a rose I have picked for you .

It is a rose that grew out of soil ,
that once was crushed between the garlic and the clove that ,
you planted one day ,
you’re hands hid dirt ,
you’re hands a blood red ,
a love in you’re heart ,
for the wounds that we met .

For our love was like that flower deeply  embedded ,
then entwined ,
in my soul a ***** love not pure and kind ,
but the kind that lasted through so such turbulent times .

It was a kind of love that cut so deep ,
as that Thorne that made you’re bitter  hands weep .

But we watched it grow so tall and free ,
It’s scent as radiant as you’re love for me .

So I pulled it up and now I give it back to you ,
for you to be reminded  now you are dead ,
that thorns grow even now ,
all blooded and red .