poems i came up with at 3 am

Catherine Howard

Whose virtue is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite famed
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry shamed

While she gives herself a shake,
Eyes dripping honey
The only other sound's the break,
Of all things just and sunny.

'Tis flowery, soft and deep,
But she has promises to tend,
Until then she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed, awaiting her end.

She idolises being dead.
Thou shall only bend,
Facing the day with never ending dread.
Loss of a flower, condemned.