Poetry About Daffodils

Daffodils lift small trumpets from the rain. Their green stems lean, recover, lean again. Winter still lingers under the hedge. Yet every bloom insists the light has changed. No calendar is brighter than this field. Spring arrives speaking yellow.

The scene turns slowly in another light. Winter still lingers under the hedge. Edges soften while the question sharpens. No calendar is brighter than this field. Nothing is solved by looking away. Spring arrives speaking yellow.

Daffodils lift small trumpets from the rain. Hours pass, but the image does not leave. Winter still lingers under the hedge. It returns us to spring, yellow flowers, renewal, gardens, wind, and brightness after winter. No calendar is brighter than this field. The day continues with a more attentive heart.