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Continuing my outburst of daffodil poems! See previous for my thoughts on why I wanted to post just now!

The Garden is Grinning

Gillian_ferguson_photo_high_resby Gillian K Ferguson16 Apr 2014

The garden is grinning with daffodils.

Yellow winks, stealth-gleams,
from pulled-tight green hoodies,
A Brazilian rash,

in an overnight benign coup, burned,
threw off, onion-paper cowls –
burst out laughing, goofily free,
wagging whole chortling heads.

Now little-girl giggling in tickle-tickle wind.
Beaming among the dour arboreal undead -
glossy Holly buttering his sweaty palms,
polishing his silver Christmas prickles,
with melted yellow light.

Floral gold medals
shining along the short-back-and-sides military hedge.
Strung like a mayor’s chain round unambitious grass
stirred by simple memories of a summer galaxy
of happy daisies pinned to its plush chest.

Even the rickety witch-rose twitches
at their cheery dazzle, jazzy trumpets:
remembering now in her blue blood,
the warm nudge of sucky human noses,
slurpy animal kisses on a hot dewy morning;
fuzzy nuzzle of hungry bees.
Her red perfumed spell over them.

The garden is grinning with daffodils.
‘Phhheeeeeewwwwwww’, it whispers
to an inquisitive young wind slyly
searching for something secretive
lurking among darker leaves.

‘Yippeeee! Hurrrrah - the trumpets!
Look! The snazzy yellow trumpets
have come, sounded! Once again,
we have fresh supplies of sunshine!

I feel seeds and bulbs rumbling,
plumping in my big dark belly!
Yes! All the impossible possum
flowers will return! It’s begun!’