WILD ANEMONES

Once more do I behold the anemones, Pop up from the earth like skiers in frost. They come to the edge of the wood like travelers, With stars and the sunlight in petals embossed.

Dew-draped on the spring’s cool floor, they grow raised, Silent with beauty, they seem to compose, Songs of revival, a symphony unfazed, Whispering sweetness in every repose.

Each petal a canvas for nature’s soft brush, They tremble beneath the soft hands of breeze, A moment suspended, a canvas in hush, In the heart of the wild where all the world sees.

• Hope Mirrlees