We met the crocus
In prostration, on its own turf
With a love that emanated, needless of possession
Left it where it was
Didn’t pluck it or put it in a vase
To look pretty and perish
Left it to come back and greet us every spring
We communicated admiringly
Without words
And the crocus gave us something to keep
In our hearts for ever and ever
A bond between father and daughter
And the aroma to come back
For ever and ever
Fresh and delightful
And a symbol to love for eternity!
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