A golden moment in every spring ... the first tiny flower to appear:
A little brown bulb went to sleep in the ground.
In his little brown nightie he slept very sound.
Old Winter he roared and he raged overhead,
But the little brown bulb did not move in his bed.
But when Spring came tiptoeing over the lea
With fingers to lips as soft as can be,
The little brown bulb just lifted his head,
Slipped off his nightie and jumped out of bed.
(A. Fairman, Spring: Poems, Songs and Stories)
*The Poetry Friday Round-up is at Chicken Spaghetti this week!
