The daffodil hangs its weary head
The trumpet sounded
The winter dead
The tears of snow now shed
The rise of sap
Begins to lap
On the shores of hope
And beyond
So far beyond
Into silence
And stillness
God bless
The sweet caress
Of tenderness
In a wilderness
If not a desert
Of loneliness
Dunes  piled high
By the winds of chance
And the carrot of romance
A seasonal dance
Promises,
And in short, longs
For contact
Ever present
In the back of the mind
Be kind
Please be kind
Its kinder nice
And much better to have
Than cold shoulders
Like boulders
Standing resisting movement
And in their stubbornness
They thwart life
Oh what a die to die for.

Grahame Rourke