Winter Death is beautiful
A dying plant, once vibrant green, Now wilting, withered, and unseen, Its leaves once proud, now hang and droop, Its roots too weak to bear the troupe.
No longer does it stretch towards the light, But bends and twists with all its might, Its petals, once bright and full of hue, Now fading, withering, and subdued.
The sun, once its life-giving force, Now burns and scorches without remorse, Its soil, once rich and filled with life, Now barren, dry, and full of strife.
A dying plant, a sad demise, Its beauty lost before our eyes, We mourn the loss of what it could have been, A symbol of life, now a fading dream.
