(for Wordsworth and his dancing daffodils)
From inside unlit bulbs they climb,
Feeling through the crumbling dark;
Fearless spears, insistent shoots,
Certain even in the dirt that there’s
Another world, up there.
Eating earth with hungry roots,
Finding paths through stone and rock,
Endlessly rising, eventually emerging,
Green tongues poking from the ground
As if to say I told you so.
Advancing upwards, ever further,
Reaching for their unknown goal;
Finally unfurling, bursting into flower.
Star-like, sun-cast, their golden glory
Sings out: even in the dark, we knew,
That this is what we were.
Mab Jones is “a unique talent” (The Times) whose satirical, saucy, postmodern verse has disgraced stages all over the UK, in the US, France, Ireland, and Japan, on BBC Radio 4, at the Edinburgh Festival supporting Phill Jupitus, and more. She is also Resident Poet in the National Botanic Garden of…
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