It starts with a crocus

Crocus,

nobody's favorite or least favorite flower

Crocuses of butter golden yellow

Of the lightest lavender

Of the darkest purple

Dots and simple stripes

Sit atop thrones made of tulip-stem green

They send out a signal to

O! The trees! O!

(O! pretention. O! use of O! in a poem)

Those glorious trees remember that winter wishes them a frozen death

Eclipse the cold with tiny little buds

They explode into bursting flowers

And implode into leaves and fruits and flowers again

A storm of color boldly says hello

What seems like seconds later,

Every flower

Every ground-plant

The world fills with blossoms and beauty

And fills more with

a cacophony of birds

Warbling and tweeting and chirping