If  I could  see you just once more time ,
without you’re  name in stone ,
or marble images all in white .
Without the hosts of the starry nights ,
a pilgrims life times work,
written under moonlight night ,
In a time we could call own own .

Then If roses bloom to no avail ,
then weep and wilt because you’re blossoms fail ,                                      then  I should employ  a thousand minstrels to dance and sing .
then  they will be enough to raise you from your sleep
, for evermore ?

So cold you lay ,
so peaceful now ,
Yet my rose shall wilt and die .

Then so beit  
If my fingers blessed they  bleed against your stone ,
under your blood red sky .
For at least it will be a reminder that I am not alone.
Then you ****** my blood into your mouth ,
my hair you gently caressed
as ours eyes met
as red as the sky’s dying light ,
under your naked breast .
As red as the rose I once gave to you it
shall bloom again once more .


And as I turned to walk away ,
i heard your voice again ,
“ Come quick whilst the skies are still red ,
come quick and don’t delay “
come and make these rose petals for our bed ,
for this night let it be said
will be forever and a day “

‘ And yes my roses are still red ,
and every night they bloom ,
a stone cold carcus for a bed ,
where  thistle and **** grow undisturbed around
her white marble statue ,
underneath where rose petals lay ,
can still be visible to this day .