It rises… it grows…

Beneath the frost, the crocus lay,
Its roots unseen in the frozen clay.
The earth exhales, a silent plea,
A bloom of truth from eternity.

The petals whisper, soft and slow,
A voice so faint, where the cold winds go.
The light it seeks, the life it knows,
Through cracks of stone, the crocus grows.

Oh, the crocus calls from the earth below,
A truth untamed where the cold winds blow.
A bloom of life, where the darkness stays,
It rises softly to greet the day.

⸻

Through ash and stone, its colors rise,
A fragile bloom beneath the skies.
It bends and sways, but it never breaks,
A quiet hymn the spirit makes.

The roots are deep, the message clear,
A whispered truth that draws us near.
It blooms for all, for every tear,
The crocus sings, and the dawn appears.

⸻

Oh, the crocus calls from the earth below,
A truth untamed where the cold winds blow.
A bloom of life, where the darkness stays,
It rises softly to greet the day.

The fog is lifting, the world is still,
The crocus rises, its sacred will.
Through every shadow, through every lie,
It finds its place beneath the sky.

⸻

Oh, the crocus calls from the earth below,
A truth untamed where the cold winds blow.
A bloom of life, where the darkness stays,
It rises softly to greet the day.