The cold crept in quietly overnight, crawling and creeping its way into the flowerbeds, smothering the silent screams of the huddled blooms. It left them shriveled and twisted, and lingered in the morning light to admire its work.
The flower corpses remained tangled in the dirt flowerbeds for an entire day. Eventually they were unceremoniously ripped from the earth later by their caretakers and dumped into plastic buckets while the cold leered from the shadows. The flowerbeds remained bare, like freshly mounded graves, for the rest of winter.
winter’s cold grip
strangles the last remnants
of autumn’s blooms
Thank you Freeverse Revolution for the prompt, monster. I took some inspiration from a poem I saw posted earlier by Basilike Pappa, and tried to us personification in this one. If you interested in seeing what other new things poets are trying this week, check in with the Dverse crowd.