Crocus

Spring is God's way of saying hello.

First flowers of the winter's end

You shoot up—refuse to spend

Another moment underground

You have heard the merry sound

Of bluebirds singing overhead,

Felt winter rising from his bed,

You know the sun is shining bright

You strain upwards toward the light.

Poke your spikes of green up through

The waiting ground and cold snow too

You come up early to relay

That Spring is finally on his way.