The Alpine Flower

If the alpine flower,
pressed by the weight of snow,
with its finely dagged bell
silently ringing, still holds its pluck

and breathes in warmth and goodness
and lifts itself, imbued with melting
until the viol-like blossom
has risen from the snow

and now can drink the sun
with its painful bell-like mouth,
why shall you descend
into your sorrow’s abyss.