Snowdrop

She stirs in the still hard ground of my grief,

Messenger of hope, promise of re-leaf.

Naked and newborn without armour or shield,

Witness to healing, to wounds already healed?

I fear that she yet may succumb to a frost,

That the rage of this winter with all that’s been lost,

Which howls through the day and bites in the night,

Could still come to ravage her spirit so slight.

And I wonder that something so gentle and small

Could bring this much comfort,

Could break through at all.