The red roses of Abby Grove,
Stems of green and pollen gold,
Fallen leaves and the faint of scent
Winter comes in it’s deep decent.
The cold chill covers the once red field.
Lifeless and plain that holds no yield.
A once known fragrance now lost in white.
In the darkness under the moons bright light.
Is known. And forgotten in the spring last past.
Trees of green and meadows vast.
The meadow now white with snow
From echo cries of the faint black crow.
The red roses of Abby grove,
Once bright red now lost in snow.
Stems of green and pollen gold.