How gentle the first flower of Spring,
So innocent and stout
It bursts with strength the icy ring
And waves it's head about;
Its tendrils are as light as feathers
It braves the errant blasts
It dares to prophesize the weather:
Warm breezes it forecasts.
Oh little flower, how naïve
To tempt the Gods of storm,
With little wisdom you proceed;
What if you are wrong?
The ice will crown your saffron petals
Your stem will droop and bow,
And to the ground your crown will settle,
Cold frost upon your brow.
T'is best to wait that final freeze.
Oh eager flower of youth,
You may catch a cold and sneeze
And break a fragile root,
David McLansky
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crocuses-2/
