The Black Rose

The black rose sits starkly,
Among the white,
Its leaves the silkiest,
If anyone dared touch it.
But if they did,
They'd soon notice the thorns,
And they'd realize,
That this is the wizard's rose.

It is a sad love story,
Of him and Mabelle,
Who now lies as still as porcelain,
And as white as such,
In a coffin of pure silver,
With white roses in her hair,
And a black one over her heart.

From the start she was just a girl,
Daughter of a farmer and a maid,
But soon she saw her beauty,
And decided to seek her fortune,
By finding a husband of her own.

She seeked here and there,
She travelled everywhere,
And finally she found a magician's apprentice,
Whom she fell madly in love with.

He was a charming boy,
With a lop-sided grin,
And she loved with all her heart,
And she didn't consider that love a sin...

But the magician fell in love with the fair girl,
And decided he wanted her as his own,
And he killed his apprentice,
With a dagger made out of a dragon's bone.

He told the fair girl,
That the apprentice had killed himself,
That the boy had not really loved her,
Choosing death over she herself.

Embittered the girl walked away,
And turned,
So that the magician could not see her,
Then quickly plucked the dagger from the boy's heart,
And plunged it into her own.

She fell back without a sound,
And wordlessly the magician caught her,
But his very soul cried out,
As he realized what she had done.

Her dark blue eyes fluttered open,
And he knew,
For the very last time,
She was looking at him seriously,
With no remorse in her eyes.

With tears he told her the truth,
The jealousy in his love,
And she told him,
"Don't cry now,"
For in the freedom of death I must trust,
This boy and me are going to heaven,
And when you die,
You are turning to dust.

With a sigh she closed her eyes,
And a smile graced her lips,
And after several moments,
The wizard realized, that she was already with the young apprentice.

Forgive me,
Mabelle,
He cried again and again,
Knowing that in hell,
He'd pay for his sin.

Just a chance to call her his own,
Had cost him her life,
And with another tear,
He withdrew,
Forever.

At the funeral you can now see,
Among the sparkling white,
A rose so black,
It resembles the night,
And on it shines, like a star,
A single, pure tear.
But in all its beauty,
It still has its stubborn thorns,
Like the fair woman he wished to call his own,
And she showed him,
True love means to follow each other,
Wherever it may be,
Home or heaven,
That life or death deposits thee.

The End