Winter Wildflowers: A Poem

Deepened blues and copper golds

Awake in november’s death,

The only to survive

The coming winter’s torrent breath,

Rising up from the ashes

Of burnt bonfire wood,

Timeless in its beauty;

A sweet violet! There it stood,

And lighting up the darkness

Of a dying, wooded land,

There I spy the primrose

So delicate and grand,

And when our hearts grow tired

So we pray that spring is near,

The friendly little snowdrop;

Decides to appear!

Painting by Robert Laesig