Snowdrops peek through at Winter’s end,
With Nature’s seasons gently blend.
At year’s beginning know your place,
To march to Time’s insistent pace.
While I, like Janus, see both ways.
So, ponder how to fill my days.
By pathways misty hand I’m led,
Between the snowdrops in my head.
Yet Time waits not for plant or man,
And each must bloom the best he can.
Choose, then, a path with pressured haste,
For time is Time’s, not ours to waste.