A Black Rose

A black rose,
Grows in a field of decay,
After three blue moons,
In seventeen days.

It takes the life of all around it,
Making their lives its own,
The stem grows swift from the breast of the earth,
And takes a black petal as crown.

It relishes the night,
And it revels in the storm,
Sees the moon and stars,
And steals their light for its form.

And if a woman should walk past the flow'r,
And spies its dark and luscious pose,
And takes the plant and does not realise,
What has been taken to give her that rose.