The Crocus

dear sweet little crocus,

how I cherish you,

cherish the immediacy of your joy.

uncaring of heat or cold,

rain or snow,

up you come,

arms outstretched, face alight,

"praise be!" your chirrup of delight.

"praise be!" indeed,

my soul agrees.

'tis spring, and singing

are the trees.

---

sounding out the wonder

of spring's humble herald,

& my first foray into free verse