Daffodil

  

The daffodil is not really Narcissus

For she is free 

She is golden 

Golden -free

She is fragile

She is Winter 

Winter’s hope. 

The daffodil lies not on mirrors

For she does not see reflections 

As much as facing the sun 

As much as wavering a gentleness 

On Emerald stems

Though sometimes lonely 

As others sleep 

But sometimes gathered 

In gifts 

Or seen as dancing girls 

Together 

Between lofts of heaven high

Trees. 

The daffodil is brown 

In the muddy bulb 

Of her earthy bed 

And yellow to orange 

In the brightest

Glory of her smiling 

Face. 

She is beautiful. 

She is free. 

Golden –free

And 

Peaceful.