The falling snow blocks my view

of the visible look of our nature.

Although nothing much is new,

she is after so long finally mature.

I stumble deeper into the forest

through the thick set of trees.

I find which area is the coldest,

for there I can find my lovely peace.

A small little surprise was waiting,

down on the ground it lies.

Not quite what I was expecting,

shivering slightly, covered with ice.

I slowly creep a bit closer,

just enough to see the outlines.

There grows a lovely rose;

among the weed she shines.

Truly, as an ornament, she adorns;

the wildlife's rosette-coloured emblem

is the proud, flushed Crown with thorns.

Leaving her will surely pose as a problem.

More precious than gold or silver

is her devoted affection.

She is a quiet and soft killer,

the flame is spreading like an infection.

It grows and grows steadily;

together, we become one

as the snow melts easily

and is replaced by a warm sun.