Bundles of flowers
Wrapped tightly in sympathy
Left for the sad girl
They tried to talk to
Her but failed miserably
Mute, was the sad girl
Death rang in her ears
Like an ever present hum
Deafening this girl
In colours of ice
And glass she saw her own life
As it really was.
She was drifting far
Away on her own iceberg
As a snowstorm raged
Inside her cold heart
And was only subdued when the first
Roses bloomed in spring.
