Unfulfilled

There is life among the three.  Two
now brilliantly white.  Winter is hard.
Survival happens, unlike the front-yard bush.
Cold did execute leaves and branches.  Survival
keeps all three away from trucks and men with blades
destine to transport to heaven or hell
where survival is eternal.

One older unwiser, grounded along
the fence, survives with blossoms rare.
Verdant, fated to disregard, hides
among the choice beauties.  Summer will be long
alive without show.  Like a middle child amid genious.