Chant Of Roses

Though the Rose is dead, the scent lingers The valley is empty of singers The white garden is cracked inside The green vine is leaning on its side To sleep To sleep. The hollow hand of the lake is dry And a wicked moon smiles in the sky Yellow roses and red roses die And the white roses in the vase die Shall I cry Shall I cry? I am a ghost gathering dead grass Watching shadows' fingers as they pass Tell me, between the rushes' dreaming Are the red,red roses leaving? Tell me Tell me.