The Alder Tree
At the water's edge, Alder does thrive,
Enriching the soil - keeping life alive.
Gnarled trunks stand, naked branches sway,
Catkins dangle, not yet giving spray.
Its pollen sleeps, wrapped safe inside,
Until spring arrives to meet its bride.
Downwind, the bride waits on the breeze,
Patient, poised, to carry life
through the year in her seeds.
The Snowdrop
Crisp frost spread over ground,
A churchyard rests still - not a sound.
Yet green shoots appear
through winter's deep,
Curved stems and bells, in vigil keep.
Where endings lie and
beginnings start,
Hope lifts softly out from the dark.
Demure white blooms, faithful
through the cold,
By Imbolc we feel winter
loosening its hold.
The One Who Woke Too Soon
Deep in a nest of dry leaves and moss,
Under the Blackthorn, secure and lost.
Penelope stirred with a twitch and a sigh -
“The sun’s low in the sky. I’m ready to try.”
She shuffled through Bracken, tiny paws cold and bare,
The frost whispered and frolicked up in the air.
The trees stood still - sleeping - their buds still awaiting,
Yet somewhere inside came a buzzing pulsating.
The Alder stood quiet, its catkins dangled green,
Its magic was not quite ready to be seen.
Alder Fairy watched on as Pen scuttled past,
“I cannot help you - you have woken too fast.”
She called on Pine Fairy with a song too easily hid,
By the leaves, by the river, by the fast blowing wind.
“Too soon,” said the roots. “Too cold,” said the stream,
But Penelope wandered, half lost in a dream.
She arrived at The Great Oak, its branches held tight.
She noticed the day was losing its light.
Then, suddenly, a rustle and a snuffle of leaves,
A silhouette of badger emerged through the trees.
He sniffed at the ground as he started to track,
In fright, Penelope took a rough step back -
And tumbled straight down through the dark,
out of sight.
She landed with a - THUD - in a menacing fright.
She blinked in the gloom where roots all entwine,
with toadstools on walls and soft petals in line.
A twitch of her nose, she knew there was no danger,
For there, right ahead, was a meal in a manger.
Of earthworms and beetles, her favourite feast,
She ate them up quick, hoping not to find a beast.
Now she was done, her tummy was full,
The lure of home was beginning to pull.
Snow and slush turned to ice and crush,
She scuttled through tunnels -
a dark, earthy funnel,
Straight up to the surface.
Appearing once again, under the Alder, with one purpose.
She returned to her nest,
in dire need of a long rest.
Petals for pillows to lay her small head,
She yawned and curled up, ready for bed.