Saturday, 20 March 2010
Humans, like frozen driftwood, have been in disarray
but it is a good year for the snowdrops
which have blossomed and have thrived amongst the snow,
bringing only joy; a sign of spring, a flash of hope,
a fillip for our jaded, over-wintered souls.
Beneath my frozen ground are really far too many moles;
furry illegal immigrants with their really tiny hearts
that are surely gentle and as soft as their coats.
I cherish them, ignoring their giant hills of dark black earth
which cover nearly all the garden and beyond.
Pitying their homelessness, their temporary state,
I treat them just as guests,
for like all vagrants they must be forever on the move
and are always made unwelcome in our cruelly human world.
They seem to be just pausing for a while and taking stock,
gaining some ground, but always losing more,
quietly hidden and hurting no-one.