Of all Things

The sermon was lovely -
it was -
but  the day was lovelier
and what was just early spring
had burst open with vigor and certainty
and I had taken note, on the long path up - of daffodil
after daffodil
The hot yellow ones and the soft buttery ones -
not to mention the sea of periwinkle something or other
below
and so pushed through the crowd not wanting to miss the point
what was the point?
and looking lost - as so often is the case - but not lost
never to the day
when some words were spoken about a poem - not my poem of course
but some other soul's - lost too in the days - and the poem -
of all things - about daffodils.