…I hate snow.
I hate it's feel, it's gentle chill,
I hate the way it holds my windowsill,
And fills my gardens, kill the rose.
…I hate it when it snows.
They cannot see, they never will,
I, am the rose the winters kill.
But when the frost will reach my bones,
…I will not have snow touch my stones.
Burry me, where it is dry, and snow will never reach.
Somewhere where the ground is soft, and colored songbirds preach.
Lay me down, amongst the flower from which I had a name,
…And keep the memory with you, this Akito gave it's flame.
Poets Note:I only recently discovered that an Akito is a species of White Rose! isn't that interesting...
