A murky globe sleeps in the deep, cold expanse
It knows of no other
other than it must sleep.
This spherule of life waits till Demeter can hold her sweet babe to her bosom once again, joy springing forth abundant.
As joy swells the hearts of men, so too does it the chambers of existence.
The first inklings of life too small to spy under swathes of tunics, we carry on thinking of cold and looking toward the east.
Warmed hands and glowing cheeks give rise to what is to come
and as consummate buds are ready to travail, they are pushed forth through a dark dangerous road.
Crowning head free at last. Relief.
But still trepidation as our babe grows reaching, stretching farther from whence it came and towards the sky, the warmth of the sun.
What can we do but watch and pray as the rains pour down and the wind batters the fruits of our labour before full fluorescence?
The heart beats too quick and we blink too often.
Glory, a convoy of brave trumpets suddenly appear!
Such delightful attendants line your way home,
swaying in a warm breeze as lambs play
and days when lions roar
strong trunks keep heavy heads on stolid shoulders.
My favourite intoxication;
the smell and sight of the perfect celebration of all;
It breathes life into the fire of my soul and blows cobwebs from my mind.
My dear muse born under your bright gaze,
my wonderful,
joyous,
Daffodil.