As the first
dewed shoots
of spring appear,
rearing up
from clotted muck,
I walk
in search of
one
blooming stalk-
a gold and
petalled
chalice.
Softly,
I’d pluck
this first flower.
Gently,
I’d cradle
it home
to gift to you
upon the hour
of your
twilight
return.
A daffodil
to say-
warmth
is just
around
the bend-
But if I could have
plucked just
one
sunray,
I’d have gifted
that to you
instead.
pm poetry 