Winter blew a feathery kiss
Upon the plumage of one so fair
A carnation hue, yet darker still
Was echoed in the garden there.
Where angel dust and specters meet
To chill the air and rest their feet.
Winter, with her girlish charms,
Yet arcane in her gnarled wrists,
Did come upon the comely one,
Summoning those deathly mists.
That swarm about the crowns of saints
While bringing them to all that taints.
Winter curled her lips with pride
As frost made love to petals sweet.
Trading velvet for glassy robes -
Slowly splintering in defeat.
Ending a crash with tinkling sighs
Who could mourn the rose's demise?