Shivering hands gathered in the snow, Searching the rare roses of December, Some were firmly placed in a lover's palms,

Some were secrets covered in thorns,

A secret no one will ever know, Nor will the time remember. Yet you sit on top Of a mountain of wilting red roses Still awaiting for a white rose To blossom in spring.   Abhigya Shrestha Grade: 10 Rato Bangala School, Patan