A pale pink rose sits wilting
  upon the sill of amber light
her lovely thoughts keep shifting. With
   good clear sorrow she smiles
through dust,
and thinks of summer’s fading lust.

A frozen day might seal her fate,
her petals fall in autumn’s wake.
   Yet fearless,
she skips through seasons with haste;
  for no snow can quite chill
       the warmth from her face.