The little flowers try to bloom, 
Beneath a sky of wintry gloom. 
Their fragile stems, so brave and bold, 
Stretch toward the light, defying cold. 

The frost, it clings with icy grip, 
A crystal veil on petal’s tip. 
They shiver softly, roots dug deep, 
Dreaming of spring’s warmth while they sleep. 

Each bud a promise, tender, slight, 
A flash of color in the white. 
But nature’s game is one of chance, 
A frosty waltz, a chilling dance. 

They bloom not knowing if they’ll stay, 
Or if the cold will sweep away 
Their tender hues, their soft debut
A fleeting hope in morning dew. 

Yet there’s a beauty in this fight, 
A strength beneath the pale moonlight. 
For even when the frost bears down, 
They push against it, wear a crown. 

Isn’t that life, under the frost? 
We try to bloom, no matter the cost. 
We bend, we crack, but still we rise, 
A bloom beneath the wintry skies.