It feels late this year for daffodils
Mine are empty of colour outside
And so I bring them in from the supermarket
Place them in several vases 
Gaze into their golden crowns
Feel the pull of their birth canals
And smile at the six translucent hellos
I’m here they say, look at me

There is not a breeze or bee in sight
Very soon they will wilt
Heads falling like bereft queens
Fit only for the dark of the compost 
While longing for the light of the sun
No children will emerge from this bell
No quickening can be felt
Within these four walls

And so on a rare mild day 
I step out into a garden in anticipation
Searching for signs of Ostara
Goddess of Spring and find
A maiden with eggs in open hands
Waiting patiently for union 
With a horned youthful sun
Playful and life-giving

Under the breeze a warmth
Caresses my skin and 
An earthy scent finds my soul 
Celandine greets me from beneath
The hedgerow where hawthorn
Explodes with electric green vitality
And the soft apple blossom bud
Patiently waits to express herself

Like the boxing spring hare 
The seasons are shape-shifting
Finding a rhythm that none of us know
Dancing to a karmic symphony 
Pleading for the union of light and dark
And all the while the enduring cycle
Of rebirth is right here 
Urging us forward

© orlabeaton
19/3/24