Death is in the flower's heart – br Why to cry for life of any petal? br br Death in purple ink of weary pens br Betrays the written yearnings br On her scented paper. br br Death is laughing in her cry; br Her broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve. br br Death ignores the plight of any purity – br He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of br What her dewy eye desires, br For Death beckoned: br br 'Embrace the jar! ' br And yes, she did – br For Death, of course. br br After all, no other man would br Open up her hand and bid her with a kiss, br So Death became her bliss.