There is often a secret behind the russet gate -
A glint of gold worth knowing.
Where sinuous vines blight to ashen gray,
A story is still yet growing.
When her eyes first lit upon the evening star,
Charcoal gripped a fallen tear.
The lines that caressed her defeated gaze spoke,
“Death, I am here.”
A butterfly crept along her silver tresses,
Drinking cups of sunshine from the sill.
Shadows fed upon my wary soul,
Bringing sorrow without the pain.
Where youth once scampered with an ignorant laugh,
Age now smiles in vain.
Where vivacious red once seized her hue,
Violet now fades by day.
Behind the visage blackened by fate,
A crimson rose is still a-bloom.
A vibrant leaf of timeless light
Still lives in the heart of you.
