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DAFFODIL

Like daffodils

trusting, tender

I raise my head

to bathe in the light.

Worm free

of grave dirt

and winter.

Think, perhaps

it’s Spring now.

But clots of soil

(cloying and heavy)

work with the wind

to rip away

hopeful yellow petals,

and I wonder

if life underground

was so terrible

after all.


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