When the frost lay on the daffodils
and the whims of spring are still uncertain
they bow in unison, as if in prayer —
a yellow congregation subdued but strong.
When the sun begins to touch their petals
they very slowly change their pious posture
and begin to lift their gleaming heads
to face a day that’s moving toward the summer.
By the time the daffodils are gone
the frost will cease to threaten growing things
and all the fragile flowers will survive.
And winter’s wrath will surely be forgotten.

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