Phil, in his terror,
From Pennsylvania countryside,
Warned of six more weeks of winter
Then crawled back in his hole to hide.
Now it’s scarcely three weeks later,
And Crocus wants another vote
About the coming of the springtime
And shedding of that winter’s coat.
His small green toes
thrust from the ground,
Dipped in the snow
And felt around.
Ignoring all those Icy towers
And bitter chills he did not mind,
He hollered to the other flowers,
“Come on out! The weather’s fine!”