u/Warfield_Ink

We had planted daffodils in February 
and March had felt so long 
and for a moment 
we thought they’d see December frost. 
But they hadn’t bloomed. 
So our hope stood, watched 
and grew. 

And yet, 
a stilling storm came. 
A flower yet to bear its name 
was washed away 
in that frigid April rain. 

We didn't tend to you for long. 
But our hands held the cost 
of covering themselves in soil 
just to watch you bloom. 
 
Your mother and I 
loved you. 
 
And now we wait 
through every unnumbered day 
that leaves our eyes 
water-stained. 
 
We wait with hope to tend 
once again, 
our Daffodil at the end 
of that frigid April rain. 

We had planted daffodils in February 
and March had felt so long 
and for a moment 
we thought they’d see December frost. 
But they hadn’t bloomed. 
So our hope stood, watched 
and grew. 

And yet, 
a stilling storm came. 
A flower yet to bear its name 
was washed away 
in that frigid April rain. 

We didn't tend to you for long. 
But our hands held the cost 
of covering themselves in soil 
just to watch you bloom. 
 
Your mother and I 
loved you. 
 
And now we wait 
through every unnumbered day 
that leaves our eyes 
water-stained. 
 
We wait with hope to tend 
once again, 
our Daffodil at the end 
of that frigid April rain. 

We had planted daffodils in February 
and March had felt so long 
and for a moment 
we thought they’d see December frost. 
But they hadn’t bloomed. 
So our hope stood, watched 
and grew. 

And yet, 
a stilling storm came. 
A flower yet to bear its name 
was washed away 
in that frigid April rain. 

We didn't tend to you for long. 
But our hands held the cost 
of covering themselves in soil 
just to watch you bloom. 
 
Your mother and I 
loved you. 
 
And now we wait 
through every unnumbered day 
that leaves our eyes 
water-stained. 
 
We wait with hope to tend 
once again, 
our Daffodil at the end 
of that frigid April rain. 

We had planted daffodils in February 
and March had felt so long 
and for a moment 
we thought they’d see December frost. 
But they hadn’t bloomed. 
So our hope stood, watched 
and grew. 

And yet, 
a stilling storm came. 
A flower yet to bear its name 
was washed away 
in that frigid April rain. 

We didn't tend to you for long. 
But our hands held the cost 
of covering themselves in soil 
just to watch you bloom. 
 
Your mother and I 
loved you. 
 
And now we wait 
through every unnumbered day 
that leaves our eyes 
water-stained. 
 
We wait with hope to tend 
once again, 
our Daffodil at the end 
of that frigid April rain. 

We had planted daffodils in February 
and March had felt so long 
and for a moment 
we thought they’d see December frost. 
But they hadn’t bloomed. 
So our hope stood, watched 
and grew. 

And yet, 
a stilling storm came. 
A flower yet to bear its name 
was washed away 
in that frigid April rain. 

We didn't tend to you for long. 
But our hands held the cost 
of covering themselves in soil 
just to watch you bloom. 
 
Your mother and I 
loved you. 
 
And now we wait 
through every unnumbered day 
that leaves our eyes 
water-stained. 
 
We wait with hope to tend 
once again, 
our Daffodil at the end 
of that frigid April rain. 

Lightning deafens a quietness.
Winds bite at a smoldering earth.
Frigid air bows
to an ember's shallow breath.
A whisper held between cupped hands.
To be a warm light
or to devour trees.
Firelight, etching shadows into the night.
Until the ground is ashen,
beneath an attentive sky.

Lightning deafens a quietness.
Winds bite at a smoldering earth.
Frigid air bows
to an ember's shallow breath.
A whisper held between cupped hands.
To be a warm light
or to devour trees.
Firelight, etching shadows into the night.
Until the ground is ashen,
beneath an attentive sky.

A scent of dahlia

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

A shelter She can splatter and stain.

Until we are waked to a quiet tune.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble beneath the wake

of that stilled tune.

I’ll embrace the One who hums.

 

Then I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia 

in coffee-clouded air. 

A blow-dryer hums its windy song, 

through dampened, messy hair. 

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls, 

that have longed to bear Her hues. 

And I, the stone, became Her home— 

A shelter She can splatter and stain. 

Until we are Waked, to a quiet tune. 

 

When Her paints fade 

and walls crumble, 

beneath the Wake of that stilled tune. 

I’ll embrace the One who Hums. 

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue— 

 

She dries Her hair, 

and isn’t even aware. 

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom. 
 
https://www.reddit.com/r/poetry_critics/comments/1vntl5m/comment/p3p7tjj/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button  

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A scent of dahlia 

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

the shelter She could stain into.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble away,

all beneath a Veiled Tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia 

in coffee-clouded air.

a blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

the shelter She could stain into.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble away,

all beneath a Veiled Tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair

and scents the air

With a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia 

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

the shelter She could stain into.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble away,

all beneath a Veiled Tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

A shelter She can splatter and stain.

Until we are Waked, to a quiet tune.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble,

beneath the Wake of that stilled tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

A shelter She can splatter and stain.

Until we are Waked, to a quiet tune.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble,

beneath the Wake of that stilled tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia

in coffee-clouded air.

A blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

the shelter She could stain into.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble away,

all beneath a Veiled Tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

She dries Her hair,

and isn’t even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

A scent of dahlia 

in coffee-clouded air.

a blow-dryer hums its windy song,

through dampened, messy hair.

 

She brushes Her colors on worn stone walls,

that have longed to bear Her hues.

And I, the stone, became Her home—

the shelter She could stain into.

 

When Her paints fade

and walls crumble away,

all beneath a Veiled Tune.

I’ll embrace the One who Hums.

 

Then, I'll remember Her in that morning hue—

 

She dries Her hair,

and isn't even aware.

The beauty of a dahlia's bloom.

 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vlsb80/comment/p38u44a/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

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Lightning carves quietness. 
Winds bite as the earth smolders. 
Frigid air bows to an ember. 
Fleeting and gentle, as a timid kiss. 
A whisper held in soft hands, burning with tenderness. 
To birth a blinding light or consuming blaze. 
Its wild dance, etching shadows through the night. 
Until the ground is ashen, 
beneath an attentive sky.

Lightning carves quietness. 
Winds bite as the earth smolders. 
Frigid air bows to an ember. 
Fleeting and gentle, as a timid kiss. 
A whisper held in soft hands, burning with tenderness. 
To birth a blinding light or consuming blaze. 
Its wild dance, etching shadows through the night. 
Until the ground is ashen, 
beneath an attentive sky.

Lightning carves quietness. 
Winds bite as the earth smolders. 
Frigid air bows to an ember. 
Fleeting and gentle, as a timid kiss. 
A whisper held in soft hands, burning with tenderness. 
To birth a blinding light or consuming blaze. 
Its wild dance, etching shadows through the night. 
Until the ground is ashen, 
beneath an attentive sky. 

Lightning carves quietness. 
Winds bite as the earth smolders. 
Frigid air bows to an ember. 
Fleeting and gentle, as a timid kiss. 
A whisper held in soft hands, burning with tenderness. 
To birth a blinding light or consuming blaze. 
Its wild dance, etching shadows through the night. 
Until the ground is ashen, 
beneath an attentive sky. 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vc1jc8/comment/p0yogpy/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button 

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