Snowdrop

Alan Hardy

Scooped up the lazy leaves on the terrace

into a plastic bag

to fling down with a thud,

no bursting phut this year.

That bend of torso, crouching down awkwardly,

or casual sweep of brush on cobwebbed corner,

its little anniversary nothings, the body can still perform.

These tokens of seasonal survival please.

The bunch of snowdrops have appeared where they always appear,

in their dulled whiteness, all alone,

in the curve of leaf-strewn empty land,

drooping round-shouldered tiny old-timers,

churlishly cheekily barely believing they’re still around.

Their battered look, hunched up against the cold and wind,

their downward gaze tells a story.

I spot them as I patrol the garden,

having swung the bloated bag, and its earth smell,

over the fence out of sight.

I stand by the snowdrops a while,

shift my feet,

share their droop,

and survival.

We could tell each other a thing or two.

Published in Issue No. 9, Animus Opus, June 3rd, 2025.

Alan Hardy has for many years run an English language school for foreign students in UK). He’s been published in such magazines as Envoi, Iota, Poetry Salzburg, The Interpreter’s House, Littoral, Orbis, South, Pulsar, Lothlorien, Chewers, Feversofthemind, 100subtexts, Fixator and others. Poetry pamphlets Wasted Leaves (1996) and I Went With Her (2007).