The Bower Brown

The moon laughed silently upon the night
while a silver tear trickled down
it wound around the rocky path to the bower brown
but no fair maiden rested there with rose and lilac as a crown,
but nuts and leaves lay scattered 'round
upon this hardened ground
for silent lay a slight young thing, no bigger than a girl
with lips of purple stained they were
from the poison cup she drank to still the noise within the head
which now lay so gently upon the bank

But alone she's not
now or evermore
though the cold winds howl in mocking,
for where once she roamed through her troubled world
what she did was not shocking

So do not condone her death so loud
for when the wind is knocking,
death is but a passing phase that leaves the world a-rocking

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