When I was out walking yesterday I saw these lovely crocuses, complete with my first bee! Of course it makes sense that bees would like them, they are after all a flower, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bee on a crocus…or maybe I just don’t usually see bees so early?
Of course as it is National Poetry Month, I have to include a poem.
Beneath the sunny autumn sky,
With gold leaves dropping round,
We sought, my little friend and I,
The consecrated ground,
Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
O’ershadowed by sweet skies,
Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
Those blue unclouded eyes.
Around the soft, green swelling mound
We scooped the earth away,
And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
Against a coming day.
“These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
Why plant them here?” he said,
“To leave them, all the winter long,
So desolate and dead.”
“Dear child, within each sere dead form
There sleeps a living flower,
And angel-like it shall arise
In spring’s returning hour.”
Ah, deeper down–cold, dark, and chill–
We buried our heart’s flower,
But angel-like shall he arise
In spring’s immortal hour.
In blue and yellow from its grave
Springs up the crocus fair,
And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
Those sunny waves of hair.
Not for a fading summer’s morn,
Not for a fleeting hour,
But for an endless age of bliss,
Shall rise our heart’s dear flower.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Seeing them I felt giddy with spring and this little ditty came to my head:
Little bee , little bee
are you as happy as me
these crocuses to see?