A Poem


Little flowers, oh so white

To see them, a sheer delight

Poking up from the snow

How they survive, I don’t know

Giving out their amazing glow

So we know what’s really meant

When we say they are heaven’s scent.

In winter time a garden prop,

So we call them SNOW DROP.

And in woods, fields and plain

They brighten up a dark terrain.

Bryan Baker