Blood upon that sweet white rose,
It taints the smell that should reach my nose.
I hold it now within my hand,
As I lay upon the amber sand.
With a knife from my heart,
Blood still seeps.
From broken heart,
While it still weeps.
The golden sun is down at last,
My life is fading so very fast.
I feel so cold as I begin to die,
Knowing our love was just a lie.
I lay so very still and cease to breathe,
As my love no longer seethes.
Blood drops slowly from a hole in my hand,
Pricked by the rose on the bloody red sand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem