I know when spring comes.
I feed the birds lots of crumbs.
Flowers are pretty.
Buttercups turn yellow.
Tulips look like red jello.
Have I shared that before on here? Seems like maybe I did, but since I'm still haven't switched my blog over to the newer format and therefore have no easy way to find things, I'm not sure.
Anyway, I have that in a scrapbook of things I did in elementary school. I was taking some real poetic license, because I don't recall ever feeding crumbs to birds.
But the "buttercups," which I now realize are not buttercups at all, but daffodils or more properly narcissus, have been turning yellow around here for a little over a week, and Daffodil Hill is just beautiful. Of course, it has only just begun. Nearly all the grass you see above will soon have green stems poking up, and flowers blooming within the next month.
And even though we're currently in a cold spell (40 degrees at 3pm, when it had been in the 70's this past week), spring is definitely here. Crocus, daffodils, hyacinth, magnolias, forsythia, bridal wreath, pear trees, even some flowering quince....Memphis is blossoming all around, and it's as lovely as ever.
Now, if we can just manage to open this house's windows, which have all been painted shut by former owners. I'll never understand the mentality of a person who chooses to live without fresh air in their house!
Happy spring!
7 comments:
I love childhood poems. You're not worried about how good your poem is, or if somebody's already written a poem about the same thing, or what anybody will think about your poem. You just feel joy and express it in (usually rhyming) words.
This makes me want to find some of my old poems and post them on my blog. If memory serves me, I seemed to be regularly inspired by major holidays.
Thanks for the daffodil picture.
:0)
You're welcome, Carolinagirl. :-)
Yes, do share, Stephanie!
My first peom ever was when I was about 6, and began 'A little fly was in the sky'. The fly, heedless of the warnings of a wasp, ended up being eaten by a swallow. I evidently tended towards a lugubrious bleakness in my work even then...
Beautiful spring picture!
That is hilarious, Lucy. You tended toward lugubrious bleakness at age 6, and whenever I wrote this, I was already romanticizing life.
(And I remember being proud of myself for knowing that poetry didn't necessitate rhyming every line. An intellectual snob at a young age.)
Oh, the fly poem was very crudely rhymed, I think. But it did contain a bit of wordpaly at the end when 'the swallow swallowed him', which, looking back, I'm quite proud of now...
Hee, hee. That's cute.
Post a Comment