She is a wildflower found here and there
A trumpet of joy, whenever, wherever
She is the daffodils on the sidewalk in spring
that flutter and giggle when teased by the wind

Her word is a warm scent of lily
That thaws the heart, a cold valley
She is fragrant and full but humble
She is white, red and yellow but blue

She walks along the snowdrop in the fields
Whittled by the roughness of the weeds
Her roots do not vacillate from reason
The pruning is needed, should she edge and mature

She is a brave but playful golden dandelion
Tempered by the labyrinth of season
She buds at the break of dawn
She is a woman— a bouquet of her person