Daffodil bonnets waved in a well lit breeze, a capering cadence, a well rooted riot of tamest ease. Through winter they’d slumbered, bulbs cradled in full-dark. Come first softening, come the flow of ice-banished rain, green wands tarried not. No! No! Up, up they came. The tight buds of March graduated in April, and how handsome was their flock! Of beauty they gave in ample generosity. Of scent they gave the same! Ne’er was a floral chorus more bright-bold, more bass-baritone, more strident in the declaration of spring’s sweet song.
The daffodils, golden stars and trumpets of the rising green, come as silent choir for the eyes and soul.
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