In the garden last autumn we planted anew
fifty bulbs yet asleep in the ground,
and the winter brought snow as the tempest winds blew
laying deep on the courtyard’s soft mound.
Gray clouds block the horizon and serve as a warning
as I sit bundled here on the deck;
but the promise of springtime I felt just this morning
when the sun kissed the nape of my neck.
In the garden, snow’s melting beneath this grey sky
showing patches of rich, verdant dirt;
and the stems are beginning to yearn by and by
in an effort to flower and flirt.
All too soon, young Narcissus will spread his corona
and trumpet the news; spring is here.
Yes, the garden’s alive now beneath the madrona
where daffodils spread their good cheer!
But, my darling, my darling, such beautiful flowers
are nothing compared to your eyes;
and I cherish the moments, not moments but hours
and marvel how quickly time flies.
Oh, these flowers are fleeting and soon fade from viewing
but you’ve been by my side forty years;
yet each spring when they blossom reminds me that wooing
will one day give way to soft tears.
© 2022 R. Mark Vincent
Can be sung to the tune of …