• The rose had fallen into madness
    Scarred by the tragedies that existed before
    And after its first breath

    On days when the voices were too loud
    The rose could hear the wind in the distance
    Conveying words of hope and love

    All of which were desired
    Yet facilitated less warmth than one would think
    Especially on the days when the snow would not melt

    On those days it felt as if its body was collapsing
    Giving itself into the winter chill that surrounded the small life

    But on the days when the voices were meek and considerate
    The rose could feel its roots come forth from the earth
    And with them it would touch its face
    If only to remember the feeling of warmth

    Unfortunately those days have all seemed to vanish
    So as the rose clambers to its final breath
    It smiles, ‘fore warmth will return with the end