My Darling

I met my darling a warm night in august. Our eyes
met across the room and I knew that we always would
be together.
He warm lips embraced me as I called her name, Patricia.

She was of a noble family, I came from poverty.
Still our love had no boundries.
Her father forbid her to se me, told her I was trash.
That night we met in the moonlight under london bridge.
My body acing with disire, hers with passion.
As the morning broke we made time stop, for a moment.

Her father came to se me. Told me he would kill me
I if ever touched her again.
That night, she climbed through my window.
Fragile like a leaf but as beautiful as a rose.
She wispered in my ear, I will allways have you near.

Then he came, just like he had promised.
With men and guns. He chase through the narrow
streets untill I was trapped. Then he fired a single shot
to my heart and I fell, to never rise again.
He used an axe to chop my head of and he burned my
body so nothing would remain.

But my darling, my fragile rose, found my grave and
dug my head up. Gently she carried it wrapped in silk
to her bedroom.
Placed me in the chest in the corner, the one her father
gave her on her birthday.

The she whispered in my ear, I will always have you near.

My darling, Patricia.