Poetry of sorts

Flower

From frosted blue, to morning yellow dew.
A flower on the hill top could be viewed.
Showering the town with a splash of color,
could offer this town a look like no other.

From a mossy green to a rosy sheen.
The town became one with nature it seemed,
for the town was no longer bleak, it beamed.

Though sadly the flower would wilt and pass.
Winter would arrive and steal the towns color.
Draining it of its color, moss, rose, and blue.
Offering something new, a pale white snow,
for awhile the snow stays, what a nice view.
Colors change so often for me and you.