Poem

 

Vestiges

It was the last of it -

Trailed alongside rough stone walls

Or under trees where shadows stick -

Slumped snowmen or heaps by driveways

This hidden world turned green again.

But in the solitude of altitude

Still whiteness still upon the moors

Wadding treacherous hollows.

Up there, I found a ewe once -

Suffocated by a drift and stiff

Above Eyam -

The lamb inside her frozen

And nothing left to do.

Oh where shall we go

Now May’s already calling?

This life is but a passing show

Where once white snow was falling.

And all that remains is lost.