And winter’s grip released from frozen earth
Soil opens to allow your birth
Stretching up on slender stem you sway
Until with effort comes your gloried day
When spring rewards your straining with a crown
White or yellow, purple tinged with brown
If only spring would let you longer stay
When driven by your beauty as his muse
Did Vincent violent violet canvas splay
Not giving us the field of children’s play
But desperate passion pushed through vibrant hues
Highlighted where sun reflects chartreuse
Contrasting marigolds to show your worth
Sprouting forth from brush stroked brown orange earth
Blue green stems hold heads of violet blues
Three points aiming up three aiming down
Are you here to rule or to amuse
Is it to be left to he who views
Whether it be a jester’s cap or crown
Are you bearing joy or wearing frown
Hiding sadness behind a façade gay
Smiling countenance to mask dismay
Am I viewing queen or is it clown
I choose to think that you are born of mirth
But still I view your blossom as a crown
A beauty that elates when one is down
Seeing you’re designed for noble birth
And though born of naught but common earth
Still you have the power to play the muse
Painting spring with yellow, violet, blues
The poet can add nothing to your worth
Once again you join us, born of mirth
Three points aiming up three aiming down
Inspiring the artist as his muse
If only spring would let you longer stay
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