A drift of snowdrops. I think these are the most elegant of flowers, and to be the forerunner of spring makes them a double delight.
The snowdrop, winter's timid child
The aconites hide beneath a bush. A burst of colour for the still dark days.
Aconite, the first of all,
Who is so very, very small;
Who is so golden-haired and good,
And wears a bib, as babies should.