an

Buried under thawing crusts of white,
The yellow crocus pressed its ear tightly
To the earth's floor above,
Listening, waiting, longing,
Anxious for spring's reveille.

Finally, hearing nature's trumpet call,
The crocus stood on stiffened leg-like roots
And pushed and strained and forged
Until with one last heave
It broke through winter's tomb,
Only to hear fretful robins
Perched restlessly above
On bud-swollen branches,
Chirping peevishly
That they and they alone
Were the true harbingers
of early, welcome spring.

© Mariane Holbrook
Used with permission

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Midi playing ~ Beethoven's "Pathetique"
Performed by Margi Harrell
Used with permission

             
Photo from Stock Xchange

 

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