The Last Petal

Fresh from the gardens, the winter rose came

Blissfully pure, its 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, and 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, ever 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.