Her Prize

Draped in the velvet robes of night the man maunders
Moonlight seeps through the canopy of clouds upon his dark hair
He wears to his shoulders, disheveled yet fair
Illuminating the alabaster white of his skin
Like smooth marble, not a blotch to despoil its perfection
The fullness of his lips a sight to behold
His sculpted profile to be extolled
Although troubled by the beautiful woman he ponders

She sways through the dark wood
The soft light of the moon playing upon her features
Her silver eyes his heart's keepers
Her raven black hair cascades down her side
As she muses on the mountainside
Her soft complexion and fair skin pure
Surely she is the cure
For the aching paining loneliness
That has so filled his manhood.

Alas, he yearns to tell her
His true feelings but how?
I will find a gift worthy of her beauty he vow
Of consummate allure and peculiarly melancholy
From the town, driving him from his thoughts, rang out the trolley
At a sudden glance to his side he froze,
For on the mountain beside him,

Sat a blackened rose