A petite snow drop bud flourished in spring.
Stem rose from mud, white petals took no wing.
The virtuous carnation not yet bloom
Sepals shut pretty, closing off her tomb.
Heat came with the seasons of the tropic,
Hours of the flowers brought new-born clusters
Beauties, naive, open and myopic,
The sun as their high guiding adjuster.
This soil had become the home of the hunt,
The hum of honeymakers came to front.
A bullet of onyx and gold buzzed by,
The snow allure exquisite to his eye.
The pest contained a beastly deep dark drive,
An instinct to play as a collector,
All needed to broaden pride within hive
Thieving a florets most private nectar.
No guilt had he felt taking when sunny
As long as his ego got its honey.
By harvest this hornet forfeit patience,
Could not resist this innocents fragrance.
This pented up urge rashly erupted,
Delicate petals, nectar disrupted.
Spreading like poison through her stem came frost.
Cold piercing spikes through her, now all hope lost.
The home of the hunted now a white quilt,
Ice consumed her as she started to wilt.
Aurora returned after dead winter.
Whites to greens, the sunlight as a tinter.
Jagged fangs of ice now began to thaw,
The blossom had escaped deaths very jaw.
The little white thing took on a new form,
Her delicate beauty and inner storm,
Transformed to a lilly of the valley
Deathly sweet poison became her ally.