Victorian Maiden

Thou art not a keen maiden

From the tales that be woven

From the maidens of night pleasures

Yet a rose in a garden of thorns

Your angelic beauty so refine

A youthful bud waiting to bloom

A young maiden betrothed

To a noble of years of servitude

A man made of ore and gold

Many a pity young maiden

For widowhood beckons

A lone somber

A refined woman in black

By the wee hour of the night

Hope of revisited virtue stripped away

A new facade in its wake

For happiness is but a virtue young maiden

Many women yet stay awake

In thy chambers wide awake

For wickedness lies in wait

By your side the wicked cold makes its nest

But the melancholy wanes on thy soul

Thy companion deep into the starry night

A solemn thief who stealthily creeps into the marrow of dawn

Thy virtue wasted away

Thy innocence taken for granted

Oh ye maiden how art thou so calm

In the presence of such gloomy fate

Thy persecution lie in wait

For when womanhood approach

Thy kingdom come

For naivety will soon come to fade

Sweet angelic soul

Sweet baby girl

How you’ve blossomed

Thy lovers far and near

Patiently wait

For the rose to soon blossom

So thy can be deflowered

An ultimate prize for it’s gardener

Warning oh virtuous maiden

Fair warning

Heed those with slik tongues

For which thy are the thieves who creep through the night