Masses of daffodils have taken the hill.
On high they stand in search of enemies.
Whom do they imagine has the will
To move them? Tulips? Hyacinth? Pansies!
And whom on earth do they think they defend?
The house is Tudor, the oaks look fine.
Of course the forsythia count as friend.
They wear the same color, guard the same line.
I pause in the garden across the street,
Unafraid my motives will be mistaken.
Noting the crocuses fallen by my feet,
I open my notebook, raise my pen.
No match for the glaring army before me,
I take a flailing shot, give up, and flee.

© 2012 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved