Your passion blooms yellow,
Like the smile of a rising sun.
The wind blows, and the daffodils bellow;
They echo a crescendo - their spring has begun.
Their song flows across the ground,
Blooming budding emotions in its wake.
The nectar dampening the soil mound
Has enough oxytocin to make a soul ache.
These daffodils grew over the snow in my lawn,
Melting the cold as their roots gripped the earth.
I kept warm among the blossoms as the hours rolled on.
My mind gradually defrosted - like a cerebral rebirth.
My winter has mostly ended, indicated by each perennial.
I have you to thank for planting the first bulb out there -
Double digging the stubborn dirt, yet remaining congenial,
Despite the unfit sod and icy air.
I owe it to you that I've recovered whatsoever:
My cognitive crime scene, solved with your empathetic luminol.
Perhaps young love is a foolish endeavor,
But if that's so, then I'm the most foolish fool of all.
So I'll unabashedly listen to your daffodil crescendo,
And resonate with the joy in your living rhythm.
I'll plant you some chrysanthemums to match in yellow,
So we can sit together with them.
Critiques welcomed!
