These sprightly flowers
are no cowards.
They poke forth sun seeking heads,
when earth remains clenched
in winter’s pale dead.
See, before you rise to your day,
these shattering yellows hold sway,
say something we cannot,
or have forgotten,
in garden, park and verge,
believe, before there is proof,
of what will come,
sun’s surer rays, a time for warmer
But for now an icy wind ripples
and the daffodils
shudder and shiver,
stunned by the life within them.