Victim Of Ice

December 29, 2011
She weeps gently in her place
Her painful world she cannot face
Her soft silky petals fade
her old vibrance the chill forbade
As red as blood she is no more
her beauty lost, a sight so sore
like a cold crafted swan
she is an ice sculpture at the approach of dawn
she may have outlasted the other dozen
but this little flower may soon be frozen
the snow with many a frigid flake
is the frosting and she's the cake
the flowers life, the frost will take
in her sight there is no break

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