How they come from deep in the ground,
green shoots unfurling to the dawning sun found,
uncurling a coil of sap driven green,
from deep below ne'er to be seen.
Now buds shake their heads to the rhythm of dawn,
good to be here and glad to be born,
and nodding their heads in agreement as one,
as the wind whistles by and surely is gone.
Slowly bursting to a yellow crown head,
all nod together in a golden flower bed,
all smiling on at those who pass by,
a golden array that catches the eye.
So praise the morning for this wondrous flower,
each day a dawning with a golden new power,
painting out green with a new golden brush,
yellow and clean and not there to rush.