SNOWDROP

It hangs on a thread of air, white and so fragile that should you tread and break a twig, the snap
you just can hear will shatter it; a shower of tiny falling flakes that vanish in the grass, and nothing's left.
Don't even breath on it, this precious gentle jewel of life when all around it's dead or silently asleep. So delicate and demure that angels kneel before it to take their lessons from it,
and the beauty of its purity
bursts the shutters open and lets in the light.