The Forgotten Rose

Sharp against the midnight sky,
Is something wickedly beautiful that I spy,
The deepest green of emerald,
And defying deaths cold hold,
stark blood red,
the color of the newly dead,
and spines as sharp as fate,
this year appearig a litte late,
beautiful as love,
a symbol like the pure white dove,
a parting gift of promise,
the start of the longest kiss,
a token of favor,
the deep dark colour vampyres savor,
softer than velvet,
yet not so hard to get,
steming up through the ground,
and accross a heart wrapping around,
you are a blood red rose,
sending cold shivers from my spine to my toes. . . .