'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
impertinence.

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.

Christine Austin Cole

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-daffodils-rain/