Flowers

A single rose, Buried, In her hair.

The scent, Of blood, Tainting the air.

Her last words, Fleeting, From her mouth.

She's free from worries, Fear, And doubt.

Her soul can wander, Forever, Hopelessly lost.

Her body, Left behind, Buried in dust.

Entwined, Between, Her fingertips.

Vines and ivy, Dew settling, On her lips.