A Sestina

This story begins as many. Once upon a time,

The Reaper lived in a kingdom of bones

His job to collect the souls that rest.

Adorned with a scowl and a cloak grey.

Every day he woke, alone. Every morning  he sadly rose.

His love being only his garden.

But it did not love him back, his garden.

He would tend his plants, time after time,

He would have been content only with a single red rose,

A rose to brighten his kingdom of bones

But alas his flowers would die, his garden as grey

As the face of those who passed.

But as fate would have it, a woman he passed,

For his errands called him to the surface where he saw a garden.

Lush and green, filled with red blooms. This gardener’s domain was not grey.

So he offered her pay to stay with him for a time,

To tend his garden, in his kingdom of bones

In hopes the gardener would yield him a rose.

She agreed, saying she would give him his rose

Before three months would pass.

And so they went together, to the land of old bones,

Where the woman worked to make a beautiful garden

For the reaper. A place where he could bide his time.

A place beyond the reach of the underworld’s grey.

The gardener toiled, her garden green against the skyline so grey.

And on the third month, as promised, she yielded the reaper a rose.

Delighted, he put it beside his bed, where he could see it all the time.

Every time he would wave at the gardener as he walked passed,

The smile on his face not only because of the garden.

His mind no longer burdened with thoughts of souls and bones.

But alas, oh, alas, the gardener was not made to stay in the kingdom of bones,

For the green drew the attention of the souls who were jealous in the grey.

So, one day, when the reaper was gone, they found their way to the garden.

And there they destroyed every living thing. Every single rose.

The Reaper returned and knew something was wrong as he walked passed,

The gate was ajar. He ran to her, but, tragically, the gardener had run out of time.

There in the garden, the Reaper cried, laying to rest her bones.

He could not fix it this time. The grey had won.

But as time passed, as if in defiance, on her grave, it can be seen growing tall. A rose.