Scattered across the frozen ground,
Crimson roses lie frail and dying.
Not a glimmer of their majestic elegance
Dares to leave their forgotten souls.
The ethereal tips of a childís fingers
Creep ever so closely to the forsaken blossoms.
A guardian thorn attacks the encroaching hand,
Ripping the tender flesh with the slightest of ease.
Droplets of dark, thick, scarlet blood
Rain upon the flowers held in damnation.
Salty tears well in the deep violet eyes of the child.
Slowly they descend across itís sallow cheeks,
And plummet to the cold, harsh soil.
Merging with the warm, sweet blood,
They create a tiny pool of bitter pain.
The childís enchantment with the gorgeous roses
Has been broken.
For now the child realizes the true danger
Behind the glamorous veil
Of these insidious beauties.