Jonquil

Winter is coming. The world will turn on,

The sun will set and rise, as it always has.

The days cool and shorten, the seasons

Unfold oblivious. The earth cares naught

For our heartache; why should it?

It has its own rhythms and reasons.

There is a portentous chill in the air. But

I planted the bulbs anyway, as an act

Of faith; I may not see the light they bring.

Whose eye will catch the daffodils’ gentle dance,

Their vernal joy, their living witness

To the earth’s rebirth, in spring?

c Teresa Durran 180910