Observe the man. I mean
this man, parched in the midst
of all kinds of plans,
longing for the moisture of meaning.

Observe the snowdrop. I mean
this snowdrop, risen quite suddenly
on a bare lawn, a bead of night rain
clinging to its bowed head.

See how small it is,
how utterly without
what you might call strength
or ambition, see
how it makes even winter smile.

Little wet flower,
so unhuman,
so entirely alive.

Gideon Heugh