Snowdrops

 Remembering the Snowdrops of Ards today:

Snowdrops

On a 

dank

dark 

January 

day

when the 

rain 

ceased 

only

to give way 

to freezing 

fog,

I was 

sudden stopped

by the

glint beneath

the bare branches

of their

greening.

There 

they were,

the snowdrops,

quiet 

at their

humble 

devotions

in the 

woodland glade.

Veiled in 

purest white,

in bunches 

they stood,

their heads 

bowed 

low

as though 

whispering 

together,

or perhaps 

at 

prayer. 

I was 

the happier 

for seeing 

them

then,

knowing that 

only 

on the 

coldest 

darkest 

days 

had they 

begun 

their journey,

ever

upwards

pushing 

through the 

steel soil 

of 

wintered woods

the earth 

frost-forged 

and hard, 

so

to herald 

a Spring 

as yet 

only 

longed for.

Others 

may sing

of the 

sunshine 

daffodils

and the 

rich joy

of the 

bluebells

yet

to come,

but 

I will

choose

the 

snowdrops

and 

their 

sacred

faith,

that after

every 

Winter

there is

always

and

eventually,

a

Spring.