• With the first flower that birthed in spring,
    A silent world collapsed.
    No celebrity nor famed thing,
    But one girl, a body wrapped.
    The last of winter’s cold breath,
    Had taken with it her life,
    And some had come to mourn her death,
    Filled with grief and strife.
    Some with lilies, others, a rose
    But none could be a match for winter’s death,
    For what winter’s death doth grow,
    Are first flowers, grave gardens, baby’s breath.