The Whisper of Daffodils

Beneath the quiet winter’s breath,
Where snow still clings to earth and death,
A secret stirs, unseen, unheard—
The soft awakening of a word.

The word is life, the word is grace,
The word wears sunshine on its face.
And from the soil, so cold and still,
There blooms the first sweet daffodil.


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I saw it standing, proud yet small,
Against the frost, against it all.
A trumpet made of yellow gold,
A tale of courage, softly told.
It did not wait for skies to clear,
It bloomed though winter lingered near.
It whispered, “Rise when all seems lost,
For beauty comes despite the frost.”


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The fields soon followed, one by one,
Beneath the pale and trembling sun.
A sea of light began to flow,
Where once lay silence, now did glow.
Each bloom a beacon, pure and bright,
Each petal catching newborn light.
And in their dance, I found my peace,
A moment’s joy, a soul’s release.


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O daffodils, you speak to me
Of all that was and still shall be.
You tell me time renews its vow,
And teaches hearts the why and how.
You say that pain is but the rain
That feeds the roots to rise again.
And though the cold may seem to stay,
Spring finds its ever-faithful way.


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There was a time I feared the night,
I lost my faith, I lost my sight.
But you, dear flowers, golden-born,
Reminded me that life’s reborn.
You showed me how to stand again,
To bloom beyond the reach of pain.
You taught me how to breathe and heal,
To live with love, to hope, to feel.


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In every stem I saw my past,
In every petal—dreams that last.
Each yellow face, a sun reborn,
A song of courage every morn.
And when the winds began to cry,
You bent with grace, but did not die.
You swayed, you sang