Springy thoughts

Today I'll add a poem about magnolia trees (it's a little short poem), but first, I thought I'd comment on a couple of spring sayings or proverbs that have come to mind recently.

The first is:

Spring is sprung,
De grass is riz.
I wonder where dem birdies is.
Them little birds is on the wing.
Now ain't that just absurd.
I always thought the wings
was on the bird!

I vaguely remember this from my childhood, and I remember thinking it was so strange because the grammar was so messed up. Now I find it charming.

The other one is not so much a poem but a proverb:

Bloom where you are planted.

I remember this one from childhood because my mom had a stained-glass decoration that she set in the bay window, which gave this sage advice.

I have been thinking about this because I'm doing so much reading about the pioneer women on the frontier. They were the ones who provided comfort, nourishment, and sustenance for their families as they walked along their covered wagons, camped out in all elements on their way to the west, and then made a home in spartan conditions once they finally reached their destination. "Blooming where you are planted" applies to them in a very poignant way. They did their best to make homes out of nothing, and in doing so, helped to pave the way for all of us who came after them.

The other saying that pops in my mind is:

Put your nose to the grindstone.

I was reading a book recently in which one of the characters was complaining about his work. He didn't want to do it, it was too difficult, etc. Another character responded: "Well, I'll be glad to put my nose to the grindstone as long as the good Lord gives me a grindstone on which to put my nose." Awesome, eh?

Okay, so now, spring is in full bloom, well, almost full bloom here in northeast Indiana. About a quarter of the trees are leafing out, the daffodils are fading to give room for the tulips to put on their show. The azaleas are blooming, the mowers are mowing the Ireland-green grass.

And, the magnolias are in bloom (so this poem is a little premature), but here goes:

Fallen Petals

Lying beneath
magnolia trees,
pink puddles
of springtime
color the grass.