The ***

I wept, but I never knew her.
It was quite strange to suffer,
For this girl, I never knew her.
But it was done—all over.

She was dead when I got there,
So cold like the midnight air.
Her eyes looked back—an empty stare,
Black-red blood drenched her hair.

Bloody roses budded from her chest.
On the floor, a dagger did rest.
Though I did try my very best,
Tears flowed down in a tempest.

Sheer fairness did she possess,
Her skin so smooth to caress.
Her innocence was to bless,
Her beauty so hard to egress.

I wept though I never knew her,
I hurt though she was one to suffer,
It must have been a shock for her,
An innocent maiden, a victim of murder.