The Park is sleeping under its quilt of frost;
Stark trees mourn the leaves they have lost.
The hush of Winter lies heavy on the earth.
Birdsong is replaced by something more lonely.
She brings her grief here to weigh against
Nature’s mourning and finds reflection only;
She might have hoped for consolation, restoration.
Yet, beneath the surface
Life is not banished; it slumbers merely;
When she unveils the silent workings of the soul
She sees more clearly; she may find snowdrops
Pushing against the barriers of her heart …