The Crocuses Poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

 

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They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again.

While the snow-drops still were sleeping
Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
Within the dark, cold clod.

Not a daffodil nor daisy
Had dared to raise its head;
Not a fairhaired dandelion
Peeped timid from its bed;

Though a tremor of the winter
Did shivering through them run;
Yet they lifted up their foreheads
To greet the vernal sun.

And the sunbeams gave them welcome.
As did the morning air
And scattered o’er their simple robes
Rich tints of beauty rare.

Soon a host of lovely flowers
From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
The crocuses were first.

First to weave for Earth a chaplet
To crown her dear old head;
And to beautify the pathway
Where winter still did tread.

And their loved and white haired mother
Smiled sweetly ‘neath the touch,
When she knew her faithful children
Were loving her so much.

For The Love of Cross Country By Stephanie D., Rutherford, NJ

Jog up to the cone
Take a step to the line
You’re not doing this alone
Shut up and don’t whine

Sprint down the hill
Stay with the pack
Oh how the sand is a thrill
THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT TRACK

Up the hill you must fight
Move your arms pick up your feet
You must use all your might
It’s Tenafly you must beat

Stay strong on the grass
Past the park to the street
Here they come move your ass
Let’s go! This is your meet

Run around the lake
C’mon you’re in first
1000 meters to take
I know, your dying of thirst

It’s a push to the end
A sprint to the line
Just around the last bend
Congratulations, you did just fine

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