In early, or late spring
the daffodils appear, to enchant us
stems are firm, while
holding clusters of bloom.
they enhance our views...our spirits,
arraying our horizons, with fresh hope
fresh perspectives
never giving space to doom.
daffodils
are offered, not singly,
but in bunches,
just like the way a mother gives herself,
never just a piece,
she  reaches out with her hand
when in fact, she has offered her whole body
always...with open arms.

Most times, she wears lively colors
of white, yellow, gold, and green,
whatever the season,
whatever circumstances she may face
her smile, her warmth,
are the most colorful parts of her being

There is a lilt in her eyes,
in her actions...in her songs...in her words
in her dance...as she does her chores
such a miracle, all these graces, she offers

On a sunny and windy day
a mother is like
those dancing daffodils
on the hills and wayside
staying strong enough, while
swaying...to the winds of life
not to fall down...or be blown away,
she may be silenced by frustration and worries
but never surrenders to ensuing hardships
just choosing to be quiet...seeming dormant.

She is both a bulb...and an all-season root crop,
stuffed with needed energy
quiet underneath when the cold season comes
but never dead...never fallen
always gathering, saving strength,
for when a storm in life comes
not one to mope...but one to ease
...like a healing balm.

A mother is a rare kind of a daffodil
one that gleams with bright lights, and bold colors
all year round...through all kinds of weather.

Sally

Copyright May 8, 2016

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan