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.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/9rl4niW