The Daffodils



A friend brought me some lovely daffodils,
And winter weariness gave way to spring.
I look at them and see how sunlight spills
Upon a pond where barefoot children sing.

How soft their golden touch upon my cheek --
A baby's hand, who now stands tall and strong.
I think I hear a lover once more speak
Of why the world would marvel at our song.

So delicate, this gentle little bloom.
It reaches eagerly to meet the light,
And in its beauty never would assume
That blossoms fade and wither in the night.

My friend must sense the aching in my heart,
For often with her kindness she instills
The hope that God will let His garden start
To fill my life with lovely daffodils.


                                      Donna J. Stone


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