A Summer Sun

When the crocus first pokes
Its hearty head through
The snow
The delicate fervours of spring
Silken the frosty air, knowing soon
Daffodils will peep
Through green-golden fields of hope.

But not far behind
A piper leads a melody
Of soft red poppies, who
Beckon sleep and burning heat
To scorch the leaves
And colour sky, with sheets
of heated futility
And a Summer sun
That laughs at tender violets
Who dared to languish
In the hope of Everlasting Spring.

by Míchealín Daugherty

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