Of Daffodils & Rain

'For spring had entered the capital
Walking on gigantic feet.
The smell of witch hazel indoors
Changed to narcissus in the street.'

~John Ashbery (b.1927) , U.S. poet, critic.
- from 'It Was Raining in the Capital.'

~ ~ ~

I will not be your daffodil.
I haven’t the strength to be that fragile
nor the predilection to be that obvious.
I refuse to bloom unless I can
find a way to do so
without the unnecessary

Spring can be a horrid season
and I’ve no inclination
to be its symbol.
I will not lay in wait all winter
only to make a spectacle
of myself every year when
the season changes.

(It’s a ridiculous way to live.)

It’s Spring again, baby –
but no matter how many times
it comes to us, I will never be
your daffodil.

But, Love,
if you let me…

I will be your rain.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 7

Comments (7)

But, Love, if you let me… I will be your rain........... oh what an art of love intense spring may emblazon and rain may sizzle by gleams.........yet passionate and ingenious write by inmagery
and so often lust tiptoes past inertness of skin to become a deity a totem skin knows not when or why to defy or deify! Christine- the sudden culmination into a love letter has helped this poem transcend the threshold of transience
You certainly show yourself to be the raining champ with this thoughtful and wry piece. -chuck
I really enjoyed this fine poem. Ron
Fantastic...the rain for all seasons...lovely write...Coach
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