Chanting prose's.

In the depths of pine trees , in swaying breeze
Stood fair the lady of roses,
Black as the night her long dark hair,
Dancing away her hearts despair
Beneath fruit bats holding
Fictitious poses,

Her love a ghost, a figurative reflection
Casting pale her own complexion
Chanting prose's towards the moon
In hopes to see him soon,

'Twas the night that snatched his soul
Long hours before the dawn,

'Twas the echoing of his sorrow born
That wills her heart to scorn,

If ever you see the fair lady she
amongst roses with pale complexion

Chanting prose's
her broken hearts affection,

beware beware
the state of mind has she
Long hours without light
Lost in lunacy,

Time had pleaded unkind
Trapped her within her mind
beneath the shadows
of that mourning moon,

His love non return,
bids her soul to burn,
and the sun is rising soon.
Nardine Sanderson 19/11/2015