the snow drop
by hanna foster robinson
the first sign of spring.
the season of new beginnings.
small work of art against the brittle brown earth,
thawed just enough to free this flower;
petite and demure,
from its near frozen grip.
oh what wonder
to the ants and earthworms hustling
underneath its resilient, bell shaped head.
like looking up inside the sistine chapel.
there is another side to every story.
like a vulnerable child;
head heavy with shoulders slouched.
i gingerly lift its tucked chin,
revealing the tightly clustered interior flower;
it’s hidden face,
wondrous like my child’s eyes.
i see through sadness,
through the outer protective blade shaped petals.
i see hope and the spirals of spring,
milky white, tipped in kelly green.
it will be ok my darling.
hang your head.
nestle into my chest,
protected from winters final frost
by the blade of my shoulder.