Snow in March
Our silver birches are bent like crones
under their fabulous shawls of snow.
They arch the magic garden, hushed
spinsters of the morning.
We are eager to absorb this beauty.
The sun, a deliberate and certain destroyer,
has topped the southern hill-slopes
and is turning the wonder to water.
A plump snow-lady, smiling a banana mouth,
survives into the thaw. Through the warm
afternoon we bolster her well-being
with diligent spadefuls of life-extending snow.
At dusk, under the glow of a lantern,
she is still patiently there; her
happy grin hopeful of a new morning.