Ah, hush! Tread softly through the rime,
For there will be a blackbird singing, or a thrush.
Like coloured beads the elm-buds flush:
All the trees dream of leaves and flowers and light.
And see! The northern bank is much more white
Than frosty grass, for now is snowdrop time.
Snowdrops on Mary Webb’s grave in the older area of Shrewsbury Cemetery in London Road.
Photographed by Sue Higginbotham