There's a Russian fairytale of snowdrops in January
a girl meeting the twelve seasons in human form
who lead her in the middle of winter to where snowdrops grow

I never thought once that I'd live in a land where snowdrops grow in February rather than in April
& where the snowy winter has become a memory

& where in my childhood we weren't able to buy sauerkraut & pickled gherkins done the way we liked
yet which now has become more international

& where people smile & say ' sorry' to you politely
if you tread on their feet
as if their feet were the problem

& where time is measured by the Big Ben & Greenwich
instead of by the Kremlin
& it always rains in summer but there are rarely any thunderstorms

& people holiday in places like Majorca & Benidorm
if they're working class
& France, if they're middle class

& where I went to a public ( private) girls' school
& wore a red uniform
& sang the hymn ' Jerusalem'

believing in this green & pleasant land
with all my heart
until I left & came back again,

this time, an adult, a European
living through the British recession
& shocked at the newly hostile attitude to migrants

yet even now when I see those snowdrops
in February
my heart soars & I'm back living a fairytale

a child in wonder
just as before