Snowdrops Poem by Mark Heathcote

Can it be winter is leaving;
such loveliness is joyous
their greenery is-beauteous,
with a charm undeceiving.

Snowdrops are pushing up
last year's magnolia leaves
making little-brown tepees
I can almost hear their blood.

I can almost hear a choir
of archangels singing
while briar woods are sleeping
their flowers are an appetiser.

But how their memory lingers,
how them green-and-white
bells so static still excite
icy chilblain, fingers.