Rose Red Poem by Ima Ryma

I was the mistress of Rose Red,
The house my cheating husband built.
I pushed him out a window, dead.
Most thought it suicide by guilt.
Rose Red took on a life her own,
Consuming many inside her.
I thought her appetite had grown,
When she ate me, I knew for sure.
One by one the servants did leave.
Rose Red fell into disrepair.
Her walls would moan as she did grieve,
No longer live food for her there.

Came the time Rose Red was torn down,
For condos in Seattle town.