Why does a flower save her prettiest pettals for Summer when it's Winter that loves her so?

Why doesn't she even try when Winter hold's her in its embrace?

Is it the snow and the cold? Neither of them saying much?

If the flower only put forth a little more effort, she could add her vivid coat to Winter's other beauties; side-by-side they'd be gloriously colorful and breathtaking, the pair of them-- Winter and its flower.

But the flower found Summer more to her liking.

So in Winter, she turns her face to the ground, takes off her coat of colors, and retreats within herself to wait for Summer's warmth to once again caress her.

She puts on her colors, and in the breeze she sways and dances.

It's not Winter's fault that it can only give her snowflakes and sunsets and mistletoe. That's what winter is. And that'll never change.