A savage garden that slovenly wept,

O'er a lass of extravagant radiance,

Under the tall grass, a foul darkness crept,

As Lavenders beheld its wicked cadence.

She watched in horror amongst Her deed of atrocity,

The murder of Her sister in a lavender meadow,

A symbol of Her presence once seen as a monstrosity,

Now Her ebon tears fell 'pon the lifeless Morello,

As the other flowers trembled at Her coarse ferocity.

This grandiose mourning from flowers that blossom,

O'er the doll that is the Fallen Lass,

Her spirit—a white lily—fluttered towards her killer's bosom,

Forever to haunt her 'till the end comes to pass,

Melancholy, her fate, now a requited macrocosm.