by Philip Brady
There were snowdrops in the graveyard today,
First growth of the season, or maybe last.
Nature has its own calculating way
With calendar for future times and past.
It was the Winter Solstice where we stood
With Jupiter and Saturn now aligned,
The planets in conjunction understood
The scale of time the aeons have designed.
A life had reached its ordained plan of days,
The years amassed in earthly orbits told,
The limestone dates were chiselled in display
Where earth declares the freedom of the soul.
A gentle snowdrop to the sun appears
With measured days in resurrected years.
