Sleet seems to fall in sheets.
It covers all, sometimes even a blooming
rose on a cold Spring (or warm Winter) day.
New life, now passed but still preserved.
It seems to evade death,
only until the sun returns from
behind the clouds. The icy casket melts.
It leaves behind a wilted image of
circumstance.
Some flowers wilt too soon
only to be remembered as gemstones
that brought
colour
to a glazed wasteland.