Blow the blossoms from the trees.
They care not for gardens,
Bringing flowers to their knees.
Poor little flower,
Hold your head up high.
Hold on little daffodil,
The storm is out of time.
Drip, drip, drop, drop,
Drop, drop, drip, drop.
Sunny, yellow daffodil
You're safe 'till next time.
The crocuses are beginning to poke their heads through the still half-frozen North Vancouver soil and, although it was -3 this morning, you can still see Spring working hard to make her entrance.
This photo is a favourite of mine of the first spring bulb I ever planted. The poem is actually the text from my choral composition, "The Poor Daffodil".
