Poem of the week Snowdrops

I SPIED a drift of snowdrops through the trees

light reflecting, purest white

amongst the frost-damp sparkling grass

as if sun-shy their heads faced down

beneath the coppiced hazel wands

about to burst their dormant buds

and lamb’s-tail catkins twirl within the breeze

hinting early springtime growth

within the sheltered woodland glade.

Alas,

before the equinox announces spring

brave-heart winter snowdrops know

their spirit-lifting days will shortly go

and dwindling down their flowers gently fade.

Mary Hale