After Wordsworth

This was written for the Daffodil Days weekend at St Peter’s, Kinver

I wait, as patient as the laden clouds
that drift on by towards the distant hills.
They journey high above the furrowed brow
of fresh ploughed field, bearing their burden still.
I wait, as patient as the quiet grass
that, clinging tightly to the hardening earth,
longs for the star-chilled wintertime to pass
and all the warming sun may bring to birth.
I wait, as patient as the ancient stones
now settled gently in this once strange land.
though filled with rage a thousand storms have blown
they – weathered, prayer-soaked, resolute – still stand.
I wait, patience rewarded with the thrill
of seeing Spring bring forth a host of golden daffodils.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash