#snowdrops
The sound of a drone above.
The night sky, cold and still.
Echoes of war.
A small bouquet of snowdrops,
warmed by my breath.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 12:23 PM UTC
you call me petal,
suddenly im blushing
like a rose in the morning
before the sun knows to look away
your fingers brush against mine
and something blooms --
not loudly,
but like orchids
deciding its time.
you always smell like wild lavender
and stolen hours,
like the kind of spring
you never see coming
until it's already
wrapped around your ribs.
i used to hate snowdrops.
they're too open, too soft.
now i plant them into poems
because they remind me of you --
brave
enough
to bloom anyway.
this thing between us
isn't fireworks.
it's passion,
it's roots,
and patience
it feels like sunlight shared on a park bench
where your head finds my shoulder
and stays.
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 9:05 AM UTC
*Summertime snowdrops
Twinkle false hope midst aureate blaze;
Blinding lights outshine stars.*
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 7:16 AM UTC
Daffodils:
Little yellow trumpets that herald the coming Spring.
They shyly rise above the earth until, fully grown,
Then loudly proclaim
That Winter has turned on its heels
To give way to longer, warmer days.
And when their fanfare fades away,
the sweet peal of the bluebells can be heard,
Drifting across the early dawn.
And snowdrops smile,
Knowing that Summer will soon be here.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
Up through the ground,
kissed by the frost,
a tender bloom seeks
a light long lost,
with some gentle force
and quiet power,
hope emerges on the green
as a snowdrop flower.
But, if such a small
and fragile thing
can pierce the frost
to greet early spring,
then why can't we,
like a snowdrop stay,
to wake and rise
on a cold January day?
Our strength must lay
dormant within,
beneath the cold joints
that make us wince,
so, we must try to learn
to trust and be seen,
like the gentle snowdrops
growing on the green.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 5:28 AM UTC
Magnolia can correct me, I guess.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMV)
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?
25Jan18a
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 9:46 PM UTC
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.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
Snowdrops are like little white warriors
They just march up front fearlessly
straight through the snow
To see the sun
once more
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC