Richly scented roses are no more
As the frost descends to make its presence known.
Their gay swaying is put to rest
As the sharp winter wind
Whips them into submission,
Once vibrant flora with color unreal
Become shriveled and pale in comparison
To their former selves,
Winter has won this battle of the seasons
Yet this beautiful surrender is not in vain,
For the roses rise again
As victors of the spring.