--- Brave Little Crocus ---

John Herlihy

Brave little crocus, the first to face winter chill,

Intrepidly poking its head under my windowsill.

You waited patiently for this season of resurrection,

To bow your budding head in praise and discretion.

The yellow daffodils awaken, tulips purple and pink,

Each open their weary eyes with a nod and a wink.

In deep ground a place where only flower roots grow,

Their instincts sense the first thaw, they simply know.

The mercy of dreams lies in this unexpected awakening,

The roots, buds, and flowers never the spring forsaking.

In velvet folds or exploring fingers, the petals form cups,

Peeking in rows and clusters from the warm earth’s ruts.

The dark ground shakes with the timber of a ghost’s voice,

Memory’s voice again sings sweetly, aroused to rejoice.

Winter’s curtain is drawn open to reveal the sun’s light,

Wiping clean those innocent faces of the winter night.

Saluting shyly the wind and drenched in morning dew,

The unruly blossoms reveal the secret they always knew.

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(c) John Herlihy 5 January 2019