[This was my first poem, written 1984 after my mother told me about the Primrose that my father picked in the fields on Leap Year Day 1980. She told me that he always brought in the first flowers of spring but this one had the root attached, so she planted it in a pot. Amazingly, it flowered continuously for three years and when Dad passed in 1983, it was planted on his grave. 'The Primrose Path' as mentioned in Hamlet and Macbeth was not the life my dad lived. His was a life of hard work as a farmer in the village of Coogue, County Mayo, Ireland and building laborer in London. He was a great man.]
The first flowers of spring
He always brought in
They grew in abundance
On the moss-covered fence
He stooped down and chose
A lovely primrose
To bring into the house
Great Natures' new promise
This one was special
Because the root came as well
It was potted with care
Perchance to grow there
Three years have gone by
As we watched his demise
The last flower he gave
Now grows on his grave.
~Sept 11th 1912 - May 10th 1983~
[The Father of Taxonomy, Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778) called this flower "the first little things of spring."]
This is the first poem in my book Polyanthum published on August 24th 2022 available on Amazon.com
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