The red shines on the snow
the drop of blood, a red rose.
The black bird caws, a crow,
the bringer of Death
listens to her shallow breath.
The victim lays
she has been slain,
her lips drip, painted in blood,
the color of the setting sun.

The bloodied rose sprouts from the drop in her closed hand
As her eyelids shift again
And her spirit sings a mournful song
as it flutters away to a land in perpetual dawn
More flowers grow in the fallen drops of red
listening to what the crow said,
Cover her body in petals of blood
let the living know I have won
She danced with Death and fell
Cover Life's mortal shell

Vines and roses
cover her scarred face and clothes
they twine around her body in a death grip
Drinking her blood, a sip.
And the first rose blooms,
The crow croons,
Urging it's creation up,
To be beautifully corrupt
The thorns tear at her blue skin as it grows
born of blood,
the red, red rose.