Daffodils are Blooming.

All over the land
as the air warms
and the light strengthens,
daffodils are blooming.

In organised well drilled ranks
across public parks.
In clumsy offerings
made from love and used egg-boxes.
In out of the way patches
of long grass where nobody goes.
In front of a much loved name
to show them new life.

Daffodils are blooming.

In cheerful clumps of happiness
beside rivers and streams.
In the button holes of elderly ladies
walking slowly to the shops.
In a fanfare of golden trumpets
under ancient city walls.
In plastic buckets
for a bargain price.
In defiant splendour
crushed in the road.

Daffodils are blooming.

Peering through the mist,
staring into the sun,
swaying in the wind,
shaking off the rain.

Enduring.
Familiar.
Abused.
Taken for granted.
Yearned for.
They are back!

Daffodils are blooming.

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