So urgent, the crocus rockets to the light
White and yellow and blue
At the same time and same place
No surprise, but fresh and new.
Like a newborn spider
I busily spin hypotheses
And remember back to '59
The first "sweet Virginia breeze."
Still showing up each spring
It's what the crocus and wanderer do
The temperature is over sixty
And, dude, you are too.
The buds start on the end of dirty sticks. The yellow forsythia presents winters end. The robins carry the warmth. There is hope at the end of the cold.
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