They call me The Wild Rose. but my name was Elisa Day. Why they call me it I do not know. For my name was Elisa Day. From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one. As she stared in my eyes and smiled. For her lips were the colour of the roses. That grew down the river all bloody and wild. When he knocked on my door and entered the room. My trembling subsided in his sure embrace. He would be my first man and with a careful hand. He wiped at the tears that ran down my face. On the second day I brought her a flower. She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen. I said "Do you know where the wild roses grow. So sweet and scarlet and free?". On the second day he came with a single red rose. Said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?". I nodded my head as I lay on the bed. He said "If I show you the roses will you follow?". On the third day he took me to the river. He showed me the roses and we kissed. And the last thing I heard was a muttered word. As he knelt above me with a rock in his fist. On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow. And she lay on the bank the wind light as a thief. As I kissed her goodbye I said "All beauty must die". And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth