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March: Not the daffodil poem |
It’s March – and I could write of daffodils But that’s been done before, and hellebore (With their modest faces turned away) or Violets - don’t possess the visual thrills Or smells to stop us in our daily tracks; The snowdrops now are faded: their tiny cups Upturned, a little stained, need washing up - And primrose lack the punch that roses pack. But from a terracotta pot, in shade By the back door, a colour grabs our eyes: A blue of all the bluest summer skies And intoxicating perfume invades Our waiting – so long starved of scent – nostrils: So hyacinths outdo those daffodils. ©The contents of this page are copyright protected.
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