My Primrose

This has been a slow, late, old fashioned spring after the longest, hardest winter the UK (and Ireland) has known for thirty years according to this article in the Guardian. But at last my primroses have appeared about two week later than last year. If they were people the daffodils would be the showy, publicity- seeking, limelight grabbing ones, the primroses quiet shy dependable ones.

Patrick Kavanagh has a poem, Primrose, which starts:

Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, I said, to find
One small page of Truth’s manuscript made clear.

Whole poem here.
The poem is mentioned here in this article about the spirituality of Kavanagh.