The daffodils came early that year,
Bringing green shoots to the brown-fogged
Miser of winter, its snow now seeping the earth.
In the park, where children sing soon to scream,
They budded yellow at the tip -
Threatening to burst and to spill
Beneath the war memorial. The brooding
Soldier and all his loss made good
By the earth's solid promise to renew and forget.
The daffodils came early that year,
How could they see the hard frost that would
slaughter them like the fresh mown grass,
would bite at their heads like animals?
The frost came later that year:
As unexpected as the letter,
The phone call late at night,
Always the same - news that can't wait.
The young do rise the old do fall.
Young boys smile and want to fight,
Girls become women come what May
And daffodils will nod their heads
While the walkers pass by on their way.
As the spring forces its way into Scotland I remembered a walk in the park with Megan who was still in her pushchair. In was the middle of January and I noticed Daffodils and it took me by surprise. A week or so later the frost came and the young shoots were badly savaged. All underneath a war memorial and surrounded by children playing obliviously. The connection between hope of the coming Spring and the way it was stopped made me connect the idea of children and growing up.
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