The rose was a rose not less so while she froze

A sole overstayed rose
shivered but far from jaded
imagine how she froze
in Winter’s bleakness faded

All comfort she’d spurned
no longer warmed or fed
How for Spring she yearned
though by then she’d be dead

While this story tragic
shows that anticipation
might well offer magic
short of participation

Quite hard to be judicious
about what’s inauspicious