Chicory suddenly appears on roadsides.
A sentry, as springtime marches out of reach,
with its pale blue beret, erect stance, it chides  

cool nights, warm breeze, subtle fragrances that preach
of hope and revival and new life after
surviving the bleak despair that winters teach.  

Chicory invades vacant lots with laughter.
Violets, even dandelions are dead.
Sentries standing guard, summer’s faithful grafter.