It stood on a throne,
Made out of lime stone.

It was clothed,
In colorless gold.

It wore a shadeless crown,
Above its brow.

Its heart was frozen-
From winters night.

Its soul was diced,
by Jack Frost's knife.

It stood alone,
In its quite abyss.
Dismissing my stare.

Though it was free,
It looked lost at sea.

For, I waited to hear a plea,
But it was silent as a willow tree.

Time passed-
And it started to bow

To the brown earth beneath its feet,
To the blue sky above its crown.

Though, the journey was over,
And the final Goodbyes were made.

I could never forget the pride in its eyes,
Or why it stood so still.

For to this day,
I question if I'll every discover,
If the White Rose knew,
Of its wonder?