A Little Treasure
There's a sense of eager anticipation and regeneration
by Agnes McRae
Even though it still be cold and the mellow sun imperceptibly
The trees as yet bereft of a canopy conceal fresh buds anew
Whilst driven snow lies on the trunks on the windward side
Amidst it all the pure white snowdrop pushes through the hardened earth
And hides amongst the tattered leaves its solitary hearth,
Until it blooms in a multitude of exquisite profusion
The sun shines through its silken petals no longer in seclusion.
It gives us hope and strength and in some ways it's an important measure
That life again has yet revolved in the form of a little treasure,
It saddens one when the flowers die back this delicate yet
But it's only resting and sustaining until its awaited hour.