wither, wither, little rose
icy wind has stopped the growth
into mere dust you'll turn again
bitter frost has killed the grain
I remember well your spell
cast onto me by your smell
of sweet but senses robbing wine
which used to make my eyes shine
all this was lost when time past by
all the beloved things are shy
much too shy to stay forever
seemingly they love to sever
bewilered, I still stand there
asking, should I even care
about memories, distant now,
invocated, threatening though
but I cannot just close my eyes
I cannot rest here in disguise
what I have to look at
yet is rendering me sad
so if soon my ashes cease
you'll be expecting summer's breeze
been one of them who chose
dying like a tiny withering rose.