Thursday 31 January 2008
Come gather in your gaze, the glory of the gathered galanthus,
That drift and settle beneath naked oaks and pallid willows,
Whose nodding white bonnets first defy the frosted iron earth,
And dare to dream of Summer, intrepid in the widowing snow.
Hope is born from an angels breath they say, for the first solace of Man,
Was the promise of sorrow passing when Winters frozen claws,
Lifted the spirit of the land down from that cruel cross, and in secret sowed,
A white carpet of snowdrops for the soft feet of Spring to step upon.
The trinity of their petals are Summers sacred avatar, if seen in vision,
The adoration of the ascending Sun, is a prayer for the fair maids of February,
They are hope of the resurrection, so tread soft upon your way,
Save them in your heart till nightingales sing once more at midnight.
Ghosts of the season in forest glades, that forever haunt the blackened hearth,
Are the countless bells of candlemas that toll in silent remembrance,
For all those who have walked before us into the shadow and shade,
‘Seek beauty’ the only words they speak, snatched from their lips by the wind.