Bulbs Poem by Natalie Carr

Whispering past the month,
All spring lies
Wrapped up in tissue paper likeness
All delicate and thin
Concealing the new,
Nestled and nestling.
The opening and closing of chapters
With a stouthearted performance.

A heaviness to day and night
Swapped for the bright
A changing of the guards
The palace like efficiency,
Days open up in hours
As the violet buds of the crocus lawn -
Tender hands.

Waiting
Patiently as saints
For some animated fount of light.
As they have waited under the earth
In cocoon slumbers
So wise and so young
A telling sign.

Still, innocence is theirs
They cherish it
In infantile knowingness.
Yet to feel the rains
Yet to be drawn down by winds
They do not mind the state of it
For they know what is to come.
When their concealment is burnt
And the light let in
They will thrive.