Beneath the leaf mold,
Stark and waiting,
For the last cold,
Anticipating,
Lies the fodder of new flower,
Lies the harbinger of Spring.
In its still unleashed bright power,
Yet to start its warm air fling,
There lies the dormant bud awaiting,
To hear the sound of Robins sing.
And deep in dark loam ever ready,
With its green sprout tremblng soft,
Until the temperatures stay steady,
And it may send pennants aloft.
And for at last comes warmer climes,
And sprout the flower tall,
And issue forth the coming times,
That speak of Summer's call.