The flower doesn’t question.
Spring simply arrives and there are daffodils,
perfectly stretching toward the sky.
To be the flower bud,
slowing unfurling the parts that are mine,
reaching for the warmth,
the light
My roots grow deeply, connected.
Drawing in the nutrients I need
to bloom
And then it’s over,
for now
Summer fades into frost and falling leaves
and I go within the earth
Dormant I lie,
listening closely,
until I hear the whispers
of the next Spring
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