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Death is in the flower's heart – don't Ever cry for life of any petal; and so is
Death is laughing in her cry: the Beating heart disclosing from a sleeve.
Death ignores the plight of any purity – He doesn't care or seem to be aware
Of what her dewy eye desires, for Death beckoned: 'Embrace the jar! '
Death in purple ink of weary pens: the Written yearnings on her scented paper;
And yes, she did – for Death of course. No other man would open up her hand
And bid her with a kiss, so Death became her bliss
Please play whlie read
