Spring's First Flower
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours - waiting for rebirth.” Constance La France
Working your way through hardened soil
beneath my back bedroom window -
fetching note to my springtime eyes and nose
yellow yard breaking forth.
Marvel, unhelped by human hand
happens yearly right on schedule
I mowed you down in the heat last summer
when your blossoms faded.
I seldom contemplate your roots -
the part of you that’s underground.
Your heart, disfigured bulb, succumbs below
transforms over winter.
What goes on down deep in the dirt
is a death of the dearest kind.
Nature takes over the care of the bulb -
rebirth is the result.
Some have dubbed you daffodil;
mom always called you a jonquil;
others label you an Easter flower.
You bring new life to earth.
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