My hopeful plan was of creamy carpets

under the Alders and Ash:

a welcoming first sign of winter ending.

So, I transported and transplanted

great mats of snowdrops,

winkling and separating each plant

from the communal mass,

to poke and settle into the soil,

one by darling one.

 

The years trickled by.

With sap rising and lengthening days

violets and  primroses

peeped up on their native own

followed by wild daffodils along the bank,

wood anemones by the brook

then rambling dog roses and bluebells,

blossom of hawthorn and crab-apple

announcing spring.

 

But not a single snowdrop came in sight.

 Only evidence of white - on my head

but not a glimpse on the ground.

So much for plans and dreams!

Fairies must have thought otherwise:

Ah me!

Or birds, slugs, badgers did!

 

Then,  Aha!

catching the eye when not looking,

 a tiny goblet of cream

breaking through the leaf litter;

alabaster-bright and smooth

against a tuft of emerald grass.

One, single snowy head

 raised on it’s dainty, bowed neck!

 

A special moment, marked by stars

there in the precious place.