As I stroll along, I stop in my tracks at the sight,

Of rows and rows of tulips spreading honest delight,

Reds and yellows colour coordinated flowers,

Bewitching with their supernatural powers,

But they don’t quite go, foreign is this bud,

Used to their homeland Dutch soil and mud,

But whether native or not, they stand up with pride,

This regal horticultural flower reminiscent of a queen bride,

Another sign of spring, they will be gone in a week or so,

But until then when I pass by I will watch them grow,

Knowing that when they wilt, no death to this immortal thing,

Their bulbs will be replanted regenerating tulips again each spring.

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