AT the back of the footway, the base of the wall,

Where the winds blow the dust to a place it can fall,

In a gap it has gathered, not deep but just so,

There’s a rather slight chance that something would grow,

To flourish at last in its own simple way,

This small club of snowdrops on an early spring day.

We often walk past there, my old dog and I,

(Slower than last year, but that’s bye the bye),

And now for some years by the wall we have seen,

These pearls of the spring in their setting of green.

No fuss and no fanfares and their robes are quite plain,

They seem pleased to tell you it’s spring time again.

And when they are certain their season is here,

They will fade and they’ll settle to rest for next year.

Perhaps we might wonder, would spring come at all,

Were it not for the snowdrops that grow by the wall.

A Robinson

Penarth