The frozen fennel flares its fronds
As icicles form on farmyard ponds.
While other flowers droop and die
This tattered treasure braves the sky,
Copying blooms of sunnier days
And mimicking the sun's bright rays.
Like Christmas stars the flowers gleam,
Each one a little shining beam.
Like a pale star on a moonless night
Each gives a gentle creamy light.
Unnoticed in the balmier days
And starved of any fulsome praise,
The fennel now has pride of place,
Frozen in beauty, fixed in grace.