Sparkling crystals dust the petals

Thorns incase the stem below

A harsh blizzard wind sweeps across the medow

But the rose stands still



Never withering nor rotting

It's roots steeled to the ground

Delicate yet undaunted

Free yet still



Unwavering and unchanging

Beauty in itself

The image of innocence

Yet it stands alone



Untouched, flawless

A virgin of sorts

Something as pure as an angle's caress

But as tempting as forbidden fruit



It starves for attention

For something to fill the gap beauty created

But frozen it remains

Incased in ice