Crimson Curse

In gardens where the shadows creep,

A tale of woe, a secret keep,

The blood-red petals of a rose,

A beauty cursed, a heart's dark throes.

Each bloom conceals a deadly sting,

A tragic tale of love's cruel fling,

Its crimson hue, a tempting guise,

Yet underneath, a venom lies.

Beneath the moon's enchanting glow,

It thrives, concealing all its woe,

Its fragrance masks the venom's scent,

A deadly dance, a love misspent.

Its thorns, like daggers, sharp and keen,

Guarding secrets, fierce and mean,

A touch, a graze, a fatal sigh,

A lover's kiss, a last goodbye.

For in its heart, a poison brews,

A bitter tale of love's dark hues,

Its roots run deep, entwined with pain,

A legacy of tears and rain.

Yet still, it blooms in somber grace,

A symbol of a love misplaced,

Its petals whisper tales of woe,

Of love that dared, but could not grow.

So heed the warning, sweet and clear,

When love's allure draws you near,

Beware the rose with petals red,

For in its beauty, lies the dread.