If Nature knows not early or late,
Then how do you explain:
The first bloom before the last frost?
This premature burgeon, a peculiar perversion –
She’s either deranged or she’s lost!
Roses and sunflowers await warmer sun, wetter soil.
With permission granted, they live longer, richer, and royal.
Flanked by thorns and stalks thick as fists,
They would shiver at the daffodil’s burden,
So it is:
Born by a barren earth – no army, no armor,
She’s soft but rooted, amidst all that will harm her.
Opening and growing and full of despite,
To a world that’s still groggy, high on respite.
Golden and green, she gives us a taste
Of life and beginnings but –
Why didn’t she wait?
For the safety of sure spring, after winter melts
It must be Nature’s mistake, this scant life she’s been dealt.
Bundled and yawning, we yearn for spring’s balm,
While this early arrival blooms with perennial aplomb.
Pity not the flower who blossoms, come what may.
She was never meant for Eden; she’s here to light the way.
"She was never meant for Eden; she’s here to light the way."
perfect