It grow in stone and gravel around,
body hidden under ground,
still and slumber most that year,
wait until that spring is near;
break through winter cold and ice
three leaves green in pale spike
up from moss and dolomite gray,
bud hidden between. When day
come and sun is bright,
flower knows time is right
for to open leaves. That bud
from power in root in mud
and stone makes petals white, and sepals
three and three; though late snow keep
all other plant in seed or leaf
that rhizome power come beneath
and open white and green and gold,
anthers stand straight and petals unfold,
meet cold and wet and winter sun,
and yet have enough warmth for one
or two days or two weeks,
when other leaves crowd and meet
stem and leaves and light grow dim,
miterwort, and Hepatica, and,
now
flower flop to mossy face,
bees gave pollen to spout of vase
in flower center from yellow fingers
and pollen on that vase spout lingers,
make tube down to base. That play
is done, now petals pinked to lay
to moss and fade. Leaves in broadness,
but soon flower senesce
and fruit grows white under shade.
That summer comes, and leaves fade,
come yellow and brown, and fruit falls
to ants that carry seeds all
to nest and let them to moss,
over leaf and root to cross
seas of mud earth, to gravel
and stone. How far they travel,
only ants know, and we know
next spring when seeds from dormant go
to germinate where some fell
on that mossy gravel and stone, and tell
how far the ants carried them. But now
parent flower finished, dark under bough
of Hydrangea and fern,
only enough sun on leaves to earn
next spring in that root, and so that stem
dries and falls away. Then
only root remains, one knuckle longer
after summer wanes and autumn wax stronger;
But under moss in that root
new flower is ready, too soon
for life, wait after winter,
cold and snow and light grow dimmer
all leaves wither to ground
branches bare and gray and brown,
but root sees nothing
and hears nothing
and tastes no sun
no wind, no rain,
and sleeps.