Winters Nectar
A rose grows in a field of snow.
As the cold slowly withers it away.
A fist hits my face, with musical blows.
And
as I fall, the flower decays.
In this field, plagued by war,
no one cries out for me.
As my blood seeps into the snow, the rose turns crimson with renewed youth.
for
My life is now winter’s nectar.
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