O Hepatica, when will you beckon
to awaken me from Winter’s lull?
I implore you to quickly usurp her
ere her lingering grinds my lobes dull.
Sweet Anemone, wait not a second
to emerge from your ashen abode,
for I’ve already faded to torpor
and my cognizance starts to corrode.
Dear ephemeral sprite, do you reckon
I’ll escape her in spite of the cold?
For I rue that she holds me in stupor
but your blossom wood get me paroled.