Death in the garden
Blood on the roses
Guarded by prison warden
Whose iron gate closes.

Lonely reaper traversing his paths
Cultivating life where death is due,
He takes both sadness and joy in his task.
To the grave those souls that flew

Lingered fleetingly among flowers of decay.
Traveling through gardens accompanied by death.
Traversing vines wishing for delay.
The ones lost whose lips still fraternize with final breath.

Yet the company of death becomes short lived,
For when this floral river Styx carries but one,
beneath his hood he knows his gift.
a thing walled in bone.

Walls of bone that hold every story of death ever told.