I do not yearn for Caviare

Nor any other rich mans fare

Rich warm and red

Is how I am fed

 

Lapping softly until the source should die

And then - when comes the light

I swiftly fly

Back to my tomb which lies nearby

My castle in the sky

 

Full of tenderness was she that Night

Her eyes were misty - her lips were moist

The lover she had been embracing

Had given to her what she had yearned

And then, stealing swiflty from her chamber

Had left a rose - red as blood

A gift of love some might say

But nay, was but a token left with thanks

No coins to pay

 

Awakening later, the lady tried to rise

But weak was she, too tired to stir

She called for her maid

In panic and despair

The maid, on seeing her ladies ashen face

Raised her arms and with a startled gaze

Saw upon her neck so bare

Two drops of Blood, preceded by a rose