Jonquils

Jonquils On days when there are no poems to be found When I drudge the depths of the murk I think of Jonquils. I get stuck on those pesky flowers And the mental image of tiny yellow and white daffodils. I ask myself for a poem but From somewhere else The whisper comes: Jonquils. Poems must be about Jonquils. You can’t have a poem without Jonquils. I need to write about speak about sing about write some more about Jonquils. So, as a poet who has learned from other poets, I research. Narcissus jonquilla: A native of Spain and Portugal. Grows in open spaces and forests and at the edges of lawns Like little poems that push their way up through the late spring snow Vast white sheets spread for acres On my desk top. I stare at them and wait for a poem to happen. From the corner of a page A yellow tipped bud appears— Jonquils. And nothing else.