At the Bottom of the Garden
At the bottom of the garden, snowdrops bloom without the snow
though the crocuses are heralds, not of spring, but absent warmth;
the daffodils are open, golden face in yellow crown,
but the copper beech is waving branches free from cumbering leaves.
The jonquils tilt their nodding heads,
the bullfinch trills her glee,
the haloed moon sails wintry skies
and the faeries come to dance.

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