The Crimson Rose
Where
doth love fly?
With
an angel in the sky.
Clocked
in shinning armor,
She
wears the helmet of her honor.
A
crimson rose upon her breasts,
She is
not like the rest.
In the
field of love does she slay,
Each
man in her very own way.
Crimson
red is the field of love,
Men
slain by a little dove.
As she
pierces through their heart,
Upon
their chests, she leaves her mark.
A
crimson rose upon each breast,
Cupids
arrow, she slays the rest.
And
from their lips, they do cry,
Lifting
their voices to the sky.
“Where
doth my love fly?
With
an angel in the sky.”
Marc
W. George
August
8th, 1994
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