Infectious snowflakes leap from Heaven,
So icy and intoxicating
They dance in the song of the wind,
Embracing the world in a cloak of pallidity
All is quiet, all is white –
Save the head of a lone rose revealed amongst the world’s desolate pallor
Its wine red petals are delicate and bloody against the ivory white of the merciless snow
A slender stem as vibrantly green as the grass of yesterday slithers from the neck of the petals
Blood-thirsty thorns await their next victim, daring any contender so bold
The aroma of struggle radiates through its pores, sweet with the stench of pride intermingled with anticipated defeat
Its beauty is agonizingly executed as it is gradually suffocated by the weight of the covetous snow, seeking all loveliness for its own envious flakes
The vigor which once meandered through it veins surrenders to its tumultuous surroundings
It bids farewell, sacrificing its petals to its conqueror, humbly retreating into the wrath of the ivory snow
All is quiet, all is white –
Save the mere whisper of a breeze and a promise to live again.