Snow in May ? It happens every year:
the hawthorn blossom, drifted by the breeze,
lies heaped in layers, heavy on the leaves;

though poised to fall, the overhangs appear
to rise upon the wind, white flakes that fly
untroubled lightly tethered in the sky;

warmed by the sun to melt and trickle tears
or avalanche to earth and trampoline
the boughs, the wavy whiteness calmly leans

on air, at ease in summer atmosphere.
Those wedding whitelets revel in the sun
till bridal litter shows their job is done.

As long as man or beasts don't interfere,
discoloured snow becomes brown berry slush
forcing a future in a scarlet blush.

Don't ask "Where are the snows of yesteryear?";
they feed both birds and animals or grow
and metaphor to daisies down below.