Love

She used to sit on that park bench

Under the purple colored cherry tree

And when the zephyrs smiled at her,

Her hair smelled of perfumed petals.

She used to have a special liking for saraband;

With her slow steps danced the edge of her red petticoat.

The winking champagne in her hand

Sent bevy of bubbles to kiss her virgin lips.

Necropolis is her new abode.

She has an ocassional liking for sarcophagus;

Who can tell salad days won't resurrect again?

Only to fall asleep by lullabies of the tears of the moon.