Bed of Thorns

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The death of one to nourish many others,

a tragedy written to be affectionately smothered.

The brooding queen sleeps on a bed of thorns,

her youth wilting like a dying rose.

The flowers cry and the water mourns,

to a flotsam of sorrow she was proposed.

Poisoned roots suffocate as the petals wilt,

the bed of thorns dies on the kingdoms it built.

Now the waters have frozen over,

the thorns of widowhood bite and sting.

Her death brings a mournful closure,

and life returns to everything.

Winter dies and gives birth to Spring,

the remnants of yesterday write the lyrics for the songbirds to sing.

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