Despite a string of cold icy mornings
the daffodils eventually hurl their yellow
across the brown rubble of the early garden
For weeks we watch the ground for them.
Reports of their swordlike greens
breaking through the earth pass among us.
I am told my friend’s are “showing color”
in the swelling buds still on short stems.
She asks, what if it snows tonight?
My mother sends me a photo, her email
announcing “spring’s finally here, but it’s cold.”
After the snows of December and January
we watch the empty ground for the green points
that tell us there was reason to hope,
that winter does once more give way to spring.
Although the early crocus and snowdrops
have bloomed and gone in the shy corners of the yard
the daffodils stand across the front garden
their numbers increasing year to year.
Others have sung of them, happy, dancing,
with words studied in every classroom.
But when I myself behold at last my daffodils,
no matter what day they arrive or how cold
I get down on the ground to take a yearly photo
with gladness for the spring.
14 April 2013