Bride
I keep my bride locked in a box, as chaste and beautiful as the day we wed

A gown, pure white, wrapped round her skin, and roses round her head

I clean the glass always twice a day, as to clearly see her face

It is ever-lovlier by the day, though hidden deep in lace

Her skin's still soft, her cheeks still blush, although she is quite dead

She always wanted to be with me, "You always will," I said.