Fresh from the gardens, the winter rose came
Blissfully pure, innocence to blame
Budding from the ground with its darkened red glow
The color of blood, pricking petals of its own
With thorns entwined around it, the piercing frost could not bite
The rose stood alone against the darkening light
Taller it grew, the strongest of them all
Then
Winter blizzards hit, causing winter’s wilted fall.
One by one, the petals hit the ground silently
Thorns, deadly daggers, ripped apart the blackened leaves
Chilly winds blew apart the fragile fragments of the flower
Chilling whispers of the storm still echo, growing louder
The last petal stood weeping, crumpled in the snow
Red against white, bruises against blows
Hail and sleet passed and spring brought new day
The last storm, the last memory, the last petal washed away.
