White Rose by Christopher Suh White Rose by Christopher Suh Moonlight in winter, the cold air is pure.
Snowflakes melt gently, their passing's demure.
She shelters her face, then breathes her goodbye. The rose is in winter alone in the storm- but flowers, their petals were meant to be torn. A cold breath, cold sigh, a cold snowflake mew- pure things are better when they're just passing through. All of this was gone long, long ago- naught but a footprint in untouched snow.