HOME | DD

Description
There were crimson roses on the bench;
they looked like slashes of blood.
But that was only at first sight.
As I looked closer
I could see each intricate rose petal;
each flowing green thorned stem.
The moon shone on the bench
which was were the flowers lay.
The red roses stuck out on the cold cement,
looking like a bright neon sign.
I walked over to that bench and sat.
I took up the roses,
tied with black lace,
and put them on my lap.
Each petal seems to speak to me.
Each one told a story.
The story was the same for all.
and this is how it goes:

Two people they were
that met by chance
one day along the street.
She had dropped her bag,
some beggar took it.
Off with it he ran.
She cried out at the man
but he did not pay attention
for all he wanted was to get away with money.
That was when an knight came
and after that beggar he went.
And it was he who brought back her bag
which held her most dear belongings.

She barely got his name that day
before he disappeared.
Byron was his name.
And never would she forget it.

This lady went back home that day
ready to tell her mother
all of the events that day
but when she got there she couldn’t.
For all of the words were stolen
right from her mouth.
There, standing in her kitchen, looking out of place
was her Knight in Shining Armor.
Byron was his name.
Her eyes lit up
and his did who, but neither said a thing.
Her mother was trying to talk to her
but she just couldn’t listen,
for her eyes and ears were for Byron alone.
She had fallen in love.
She turned to her mother though
when she heard her say the words:
“Daughter, you are to marry Sir Byron,
and make yourself a good life.”
The girl was shocked
First to hear that he was actually a knight
and next that they were to be wed!
She started to cry right on the spot
and her mother took this for sadness.
“No, no Mamma. It is tears of joy I shed,
for I believe this is the man I love.”
Her mother looked be-riddled
until Sir Byron explained.
When all was clear she clapped and said,
“We have a wedding to plan!”

So for a week there were preparations.
The wedding was to be small.
Just close family,
and some friends.
This wedding was just all too fast
so that is why it was small.
At first Byron wanted an all out extravagant thing.
But then he relented to the fact that not all are rich.
And his lady was definitely one of them.

The wedding was in an hour.
The lady could not wait.
She was jittery and anxious
for she was actually marrying for love.

The wedding was in an hour.
Byron could not wait.
On the outside he was calm and collected
while on the inside he was scared.
For what would happen if he ever went to battle?

The ceremony was beautiful;
short sweet and concise.
the bride was decked out in white,
carrying crimson roses.
Byron, the groom, had on his uniformly clothes.
He looked dashing, standing there with a wide grin on his face.

The vows were said,
each exchanged the gratitude of their love.
Rings were put on
and tears were shed
right before they kissed.

Down the aisle they went
now husband and wife.
Outside of the church they went
and stopped short.

Standing there was an angry mob.
Rapiers were brandished.
“These two should not be wed!
A commoner and a Noble man!”
That was their chant as they lunged forward.
Byron grabbed his Lady’s arm
and pulled her towards the woods.

Together the two ran,
hand in hand.
Their breathing was labored
and their cheeks were flushed.
But on they went,
just for their love.

They ran for hours
until it was dark.
The full moon was out,
illuminating a concrete bench.
Together the two sat down,
and looked each other in the eye.

“My Lady,” said Sir Byron.
“I know whose men are those
that chase after thee.
I know that they want blood shed.
We must keep fleeing.
We cannot stay.”

Her reply was only this”
A Kiss.
And then a shove.
“Go my knight.
Go flee like the wind.
I would rather stay and die
than have to keep running.
I have lived and,
most importantly, I have loved.
Now go, I hear them coming.”

So off he ran giving her one last look.
In that he held much love.
But soon he disappeared.

She dropped the flowers next to her,
on that cold stone bench.
This was the last remnant
of her would be wonderful husband.

The mob of men came running
brandishing their swords.
“There’s one!”
They shouted, slowly descending upon her.

There she sat
decked out in white
calmly waiting for the end to come.
Down the rapiers did come.
One after another.
Slashing her dress
and her delicate skin.
Crimson stained the white of her dress,
as she lay there dead.

The flowers, oh the crimson flowers
on the bench,
they told me this story.
And now they sit here,
forevermore, to mark where she had died.
Each year there are new flowers put,
by her lovely Byron.
How would I know?
I can see him standing in the shadows
holding a bouquet of crimson roses.

Description
There were crimson roses on the bench;
they looked like slashes of blood.
But that was only at first sight.
As I looked closer
I could see each intricate rose petal;
each flowing green thorned stem.
The moon shone on the bench
which was were the flowers lay.
The red roses stuck out on the cold cement,
looking like a bright neon sign.
I walked over to that bench and sat.
I took up the roses,
tied with black lace,
and put them on my lap.
Each petal seems to speak to me.
Each one told a story.
The story was the same for all.
and this is how it goes:

Two people they were
that met by chance
one day along the street.
She had dropped her bag,
some beggar took it.
Off with it he ran.
She cried out at the man
but he did not pay attention
for all he wanted was to get away with money.
That was when an knight came
and after that beggar he went.
And it was he who brought back her bag
which held her most dear belongings.

She barely got his name that day
before he disappeared.
Byron was his name.
And never would she forget it.

This lady went back home that day
ready to tell her mother
all of the events that day
but when she got there she couldn’t.
For all of the words were stolen
right from her mouth.
There, standing in her kitchen, looking out of place
was her Knight in Shining Armor.
Byron was his name.
Her eyes lit up
and his did who, but neither said a thing.
Her mother was trying to talk to her
but she just couldn’t listen,
for her eyes and ears were for Byron alone.
She had fallen in love.
She turned to her mother though
when she heard her say the words:
“Daughter, you are to marry Sir Byron,
and make yourself a good life.”
The girl was shocked
First to hear that he was actually a knight
and next that they were to be wed!
She started to cry right on the spot
and her mother took this for sadness.
“No, no Mamma. It is tears of joy I shed,
for I believe this is the man I love.”
Her mother looked be-riddled
until Sir Byron explained.
When all was clear she clapped and said,
“We have a wedding to plan!”

So for a week there were preparations.
The wedding was to be small.
Just close family,
and some friends.
This wedding was just all too fast
so that is why it was small.
At first Byron wanted an all out extravagant thing.
But then he relented to the fact that not all are rich.
And his lady was definitely one of them.

The wedding was in an hour.
The lady could not wait.
She was jittery and anxious
for she was actually marrying for love.

The wedding was in an hour.
Byron could not wait.
On the outside he was calm and collected
while on the inside he was scared.
For what would happen if he ever went to battle?

The ceremony was beautiful;
short sweet and concise.
the bride was decked out in white,
carrying crimson roses.
Byron, the groom, had on his uniformly clothes.
He looked dashing, standing there with a wide grin on his face.

The vows were said,
each exchanged the gratitude of their love.
Rings were put on
and tears were shed
right before they kissed.

Down the aisle they went
now husband and wife.
Outside of the church they went
and stopped short.

Standing there was an angry mob.
Rapiers were brandished.
“These two should not be wed!
A commoner and a Noble man!”
That was their chant as they lunged forward.
Byron grabbed his Lady’s arm
and pulled her towards the woods.

Together the two ran,
hand in hand.
Their breathing was labored
and their cheeks were flushed.
But on they went,
just for their love.

They ran for hours
until it was dark.
The full moon was out,
illuminating a concrete bench.
Together the two sat down,
and looked each other in the eye.

“My Lady,” said Sir Byron.
“I know whose men are those
that chase after thee.
I know that they want blood shed.
We must keep fleeing.
We cannot stay.”

Her reply was only this”
A Kiss.
And then a shove.
“Go my knight.
Go flee like the wind.
I would rather stay and die
than have to keep running.
I have lived and,
most importantly, I have loved.
Now go, I hear them coming.”

So off he ran giving her one last look.
In that he held much love.
But soon he disappeared.

She dropped the flowers next to her,
on that cold stone bench.
This was the last remnant
of her would be wonderful husband.

The mob of men came running
brandishing their swords.
“There’s one!”
They shouted, slowly descending upon her.

There she sat
decked out in white
calmly waiting for the end to come.
Down the rapiers did come.
One after another.
Slashing her dress
and her delicate skin.
Crimson stained the white of her dress,
as she lay there dead.

The flowers, oh the crimson flowers
on the bench,
they told me this story.
And now they sit here,
forevermore, to mark where she had died.
Each year there are new flowers put,
by her lovely Byron.
How would I know?
I can see him standing in the shadows
holding a bouquet of crimson roses.