Shanty for an Orchid

Day Nineteen

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Gather ye round, lads, and listen

To the tale of a killing most foul.

Murder by wilful indiff'rence

Cold as a moonstone howl

There once was a bloom, small and pretty

Pale as the fresh driven snow

A pure heart, supple and tender

But our fair lady little did know

That her keeper was born on a murderous night

In his eye, not a sparkle did show

Wilting away, now

Wilting away

The green in my leaves given out to decay

And the blight in my root

Is the dark of a gardener's heart

My flowers are now but a memory

Lost to a long discontent

Bereft of water, longing for love

Brown, broken and bent

Sown in a bed of disinterest

Lo, the beseeching root

Limbs reaching out, a lamentable child

Scorned by a villainous brute

I once had a dream that was verdant and green, now

I'm parched and bare able to say

I'm wilting away, now

Wilting away

The green in my leaves has long given way

To the blight in my root -

Now as black as this gardener's heart

Wilting away, lads

Wilting away

A gardener's love given out to dismay

And bewailing the loss

Of my life in his bare, barren heart