In Kingscote Woods I saw today,
shrugging off their leafy shroud,
a choir of snowdrops standing proud.
Heads meekly bowed in silent prayer
like angels who had journeyed thence
to greet us with their innocence.
And further down the track I found
ablaze with green and yellow light,
a patch of winter aconite.
Soon the bluebells in their turn
will from the fecund earth bring hope
to soothe this weary misanthrope.
© Geoff Mead 2017