Pity the guts of the crocus,
smashed to the ground by wet snow,
ruined before bees could arrive.
Do not take it lightly, this small death,
as the blue sky looks on
and shudders.
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Today’s prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads was to write a poem of 100 words or less, incorporating a group of four words (with a few groups to choose from). I chose pity, guts, crocus, and blue.
Marilyn Rauch Cavicchia 
I really like this, Marilyn. You have a very distinctive voice. I enjoy your work.
Oh, thank you, Sherry! I appreciate it.
I enjoyed this very much. I do pity her(the crocus) for a mistaken spring. So sad.
the guts of the crocus – yes, pity – so strong and bold –
as I’ve said to you (I think, I hope so) I really enjoy your style and imagination. 🍃
The stab to the heart of spring… if not even the crocus can be allowed to live. There is pain in bursting into bloom, but even more if that pain is such a wasteful loss
Must be a heavy snow as crocus are quite hardy but this spring – I wonder if Northern Michigan hasn’t crushed these little gems…
This is perfect!💜 You describe the effects of snow so beautifully!
A sincere round of applause from me! Brilliant.
What a wonderful interpretation, brilliantly expressed.