There are no flowers standing in my garden.
I find them resting underground.
I believe they sleep in silence.
Avoiding the cold.
Not missing the frost.

They hide inside bulbs.
Buried, as if deceased.
Come the sunlight in spring time after being ladies in waiting.
Dressed in spring green they may peep up, first as tiny shoots.
Faces beautiful, they shall surely follow.
Lest they sadly drowned in vitro.
(C)LIVVI