Spring Daffodils of Hazelmere 1988

The vendors along the road side with their colourful signs of directions,
Would summon the prospected buyers to lurch off the highways,
Into the make shift parking spots,

Looking at those yellow flowers of spring,
Elastic and pretty,
Saying, "each bundles ten dollars!"

With that certain squeaking sound from the stems,
Tightly bundled together and ready for the sale,

We just left and drove on past and greeted the sweet campbell river,
All grey today,
The banks delicately festooned with the late march snowfall,

Peeping through,
Those stubborn daffodils would not be silenced,
Into another sleep,
Those bobbing pale petals,
With their orangey-yellow trumpets,

Stood proud and erect,
Ready for the selection and pickings,
By all who would venture along the rivers bank,

We love the hunt for the wild daffodils,
And those vendors had arrived earlier in the quiet dawn,
To grab all the abundant Spring yellowy gifts,

I'm so happy some flowers eluded their greedy snatches,

Their vehicles left tracks of chaos and hurry,
Which muddied that snowy dike trail,
But their funny footprints showed a higgledy-piggledy dance of confusion,
Which probably the herons and kingfishers chuckled at, high up in the cottonwoods.