I shall not build towers;
Skyward flowers to sun.
Lest, in climbing, I be blinded by the light,
And fall, stumbling and blind.
Scattered my broken dream,
On desert sand’s gleam, parch and die!
Instead when skies are gray,
on a day, late autumn,
I would plant soil, pat it to mud;
Slumber season of thud, soon in it!
And when they will have uttered:
“The snowdrifts seemed in its dread,
“That long, dead winter was the worst.”
The brave flower, there in wonder-
Yellowed snowdrops in white radiant lover,
At the site, silently awakening my heart-
To sounds of unseen vibrant earth’s might…
~ Ellie ~
The pictures are from bing.com…