A Snowdrop’s Dance

Bed-fellows pine for winter’s death,
Daffodil, crocus, narcissus.
Squeezing past their sleeping forms
I peak over the bleached duvet, stretch,
and reach my slender limbs skyward.
Snow, a chilled face cloth, refreshes,
after months
of soil
and snails
and worms.
White on white.
I shimmy.
A pagan dance,
My primitive celebration of rebirth
With friends unseen for months.
A medley of styles,
Slow waltz with the gentlest breeze,
Mad foxtrot when winter blows most cruel,
But oft just swaying alone,
watching my fellow dancers.

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