The crocuses have awakened.
The first daughters of Spring have arrived:
White as a token to Old Man Winter,
Whom Spring, that sprightly girl,
So stealthily and abruptly unthroned;
Yellow as an invite to the Golden Sun,
The vagrant Lord of the sky
Who too long has hoarded his warmth;
Purple as an edict to the Wider Realm
That for now all are subject to her moods,
Praise the newly and briefly crowned queen’s name!
The crocuses, the first daughters Spring,
Have finally arrived.
-Anonymous