Peeping from beneath the tree,

I heard the primrose speak to me.

Winter's done, I heard it say,

Warmer days are on their way.

 

Mother Nature waits on me

(The "First Rose" is my name, you see)

While other flowers lie abed,

I welcome Spring and show my head.

 

Then, with the golden daffodil,

I gild the countryside until

In turn the other blooms appear,

Assured that Summer's lease is near.

 

Peeping from beneath the tree,

I heard the primrose speak to me.

When nature lives her life anew,

You'll hear the primrose speak to you.