It's a matter of perspectives

A pot of flowers lies forgotten in the vague memory.
The harsh winter wind blows, and snow descends upon the frosty leaves of pine.
And there still lies the pot of flowers
Bright yellow petals forever frozen, encased in a coffin of ice.

Thicker. Thicker.
The white precipitate piles on.
More. More. More.
And the flowers trembled ever so slightly.

Spring comes;
Beautiful fragments don thawed earth.
Scattered.
And it shatters.