Beneath evening snow moon murmuration,
Hopeful dreams of spring take tentative shape,
Snowdrop flowers quiver, daffodils burst,
Their yellow heads bring the first real colour,
Into the dank, pandemic cloud filled gloom.
Such yellow assaults our burnt out senses,
Orange flecks joyfully intoxicate
As late afternoon sunbeams blow our minds,
As this darkest winter comes to an end.
Soon tulips will dance beneath waking trees.
Tomorrow we will take a warm, dry, walk,
On down the hill to Henllan post office,
Which still offers community service,
The ghouls from Westminster are not here yet.
Harry Rogers, in the Yellow Room, 26th February 2021.