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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