How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?
Categories: Poetry
Catherine Hamrick
Soul deep storyteller, poet, copywriter, and editor with a passion for wordplay, gardens and literature
Absolutely beautiful dear Catherine… Hardy was a genius.
All my best wishes. Aquileana 😀
Thanks for dropping by! I love Hardy–timeless.