image from birdsandblooms.com
This poem was written for and submitted to "The Flowers Will Grow Again," poetry contest, Mystic Rose, sponsor, August 26, 2025.
THE FLOWERS WILL GROW AGAIN ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ quietly the daffodils wait, a hushed congregation, their voices silent beneath the earth. I stand on the frozen ground, shimmering, my breath caught in the throat of winter, watching the skeletal trees claw at a gray sky. I walk through the barren garden, winter’s grey skies weeping a soft lament, and wonder, “Does spring remember us?” from my frost-covered window I wait, my heart softening with hope as the sun slowly, steadily returns. then, I hear a slight tremor, see a green spear piercing the earth's crust~ a defiant flag in the face of winter’s retreat. I step outside, kneeling in the damp earth, ears to the ground, listening intensely, hoping I’ll hear them. then, the trumpets silently call, a sound unheard by most, resonates in my winter-weary soul. overnight the daffodils emerge, spring’s sunlight and hope, captured in fragile yellow cups. they herald a simple yet profound truth, one I almost forgot, “the flowers, like hope, will grow again.”
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