Hope

Daffodils in February

The weather map may be pink — ice and snow! — slightly west and north, but my backyard is yellow. My daffodils are blooming.

Obviously, I didn’t plant them deep enough when my sister gave me the transplants 13 years ago, so they don’t have far to go when they start to rise. Not long after New Year’s they come out of the ground, and they bloom around Valentine’s Day.

I am not a poet, but I wrote a piece about these daffodils years ago, just because, titled “Judi’s Daffodils Transplanted.”

 

Transplanted in new earth…
A fresh attempt at life,
A chance to blossom anew,
Potential of beauty and purpose.
Hope.

Bulbs bursting forth with life,
Stretching—eagerly, gingerly,
Reaching upward,
Testing the warmth of the sun,
Risking all for fleeting beauty
And brief purpose.
Hope fulfilled.

Alas! The icy wind.
Snow, sleet,
Unplanned, unwanted.
The harshness of life.
Cold, uncontrolled.
Tender blades recoil in shock.
Limp, bowed to the ground.
Marred, scarred,
Lifeless.
Entombed for a season.
Hope deferred. . .

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