One year
There was a warm week in winter
So warm
That my mother's daffodils mistook it for spring
And poked out of the melting snow
To grow
But winter wasn't over
And when the ice returned
The yellow hopeful daffodils
Entombed with February cold
Were ruined
So no yellow shined from our home that summer
But they came back
My yellow hope withered at first freeze
I haven't seen
It since
YOU ARE READING
Misty (a collection of my poetry) {{COMPLETE}}
PoetryA road trip of poetry, I guess. Care to come along? Highest rank: 267 in poetry Read my third poetry book, "hush." I have high hopes for it. Read my first poetry book, "where the bluebirds aren't." (Or don't, it's old and rather embarrassing). ⚠️...