Lost

Her hand so pale, extends to the night
The moon is dim, the sky lacks all light
Maiden and rose, and image so fair
But no one seems to notice them there

Hand clenches the flower; blood comes down
Red and dull slowly coating the icy ground
Scarlet petals fall as she collapses there
Nothing is left of the image once fair

The moon then rises, the orange tree blooms
None of the previous darkness looms
All that remains is the petals of the rose
A small reminder of what was lost.