I bend my head along the silver line of tree
As the branches raise to converse with the sky
As the snowdrops raise from deep flavoured womb to pierce the earthly face
For they come of Dragon's song
And he is the heart of fire soiled world
Harp Lord and Selenite God
From his stone dripping tears
Life is burned in a spectre of ultramarine
Ghost like and dreamful
A cool ivory of scarlet eye
Quievering rosebud and peony
Bleak and barren of sorrow
In a flame of exquisite and grotesque
Magnolia can correct me, I guess.
Thin snow fir's lacy shadows cozen, frail
Nor but a vestige, waits as how from hence
The eaves drip like some faucet, April's scents
In tow whileas this warmer light'd avail,
Blue heavns expansive, wind's a soft exhale
And fragile though a caller breath, suspense
Is as a child in nurs'ry school fr'intents,
My soul half wanting to skip through the vale.
O yes, the moors are frozen still in tour,
Mud wakened to **** at our feet and do
Linoleum in childish strains. None stir
Dead leaves' thick carpet to lift smiles unto
These gracious skies: no daffodils yet, fer
All I kin feel it in my bones. What'd woo?
Ah, how by now I've forgotten all that...
Snowdrops will soon wake up
from their sweet dreams,
feeling the cold, light
and fluffy snow around,
the rays of sunshine falling over them.
Spreading fresh and pleasant frangrance.
Embellishing the season with their shiny, white colour.
They don't want to be detached from home - the soil.
They don't want to be trampled.
They want to be loved just as us.
Snowdrops are like little white warriors
They just march up front fearlessly
straight through the snow
To see the sun
I know the season isn't right
but I just love the snowdrops :D
They are the cutest thing you can imagine. ;*
— The End —