Such a little space, after all. Such a narrow city yard and yet

Blessed with the scent of daffodils.  Rave

about the scent of roses, or of lilac.

But that smell of sap, rain, green Spring essence

is the most precious of all.

Without this golden key

the treasure of sun, warmth, summer cannot be unlocked..

The golden trumpet, now hybridized into white or pink blooms

still retains the power, the earth rooted intoxication

the scent,

the scent that I inhale over and over again.

Yes, yes, it whispers.

It is here, grey skies or not, rain and sickly puddles

in the lane.

I know, I tell you, it is here.

A few more days and you can admire your

tulips and lilies and phlox to your heart’s content.

I am here

I have come.  I’ll bring them all in.

In to the little city garden.  Soon to be full of blooms so people stop and stare

as they walk their dogs or take a short cut

They never look at me.

But you, city gardener, you look and you see

And again, this year, this new spring,

you taste that sappy spring smell

Of daffodils.