Clumps of golden crocus erupt,
Bursting through cedar mulch, their flowers cupped,
A bit late for spring’s onset they interrupt,
Our reverie now an awareness abrupt.
Heather no longer flower alone,
As queen of my garden are dethroned,
By a modest bulb albeit in another zone,
Where tulips and daffies wait to flower full blown.
Before they do, a lone crocus purple,
Soon...
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