I saw you that morning,

approaching me with

the sun at your back.

You looked like an angel

coming to lift me away.

I remember how you

carefully pulled me out

of the soil,

leaving the others

behind.

How I wanted to warn you–

    No! Not just me!

Don’t you know

misfortune follows the

single, lonely daffodil?

Though I wonder

how could an angel

ever be cursed?

You sat on that bench

by the busy street,

holding me in

your hopeful hands.

You told me about your

full life in the city:

the job that will

lead to your dreams;

the friends who

share your taste

in coffee and music;

the apartment where

pigeons rest on the sill.

How I wanted to say–

    Stop! Don’t tell me such things!

You might lose them all.

Just one of me can bring down

even an angel.

Don't you know

that money dries up

and friends disappoint,

that cold takes away

the sun and the birds.

How I wished to explain–

    You must let me go!

You looked down at me

as if transfixed by my

gold-yellow bloom.

But I begged for

you to release me.

And suddenly you let me fall

as if you could hear my pleas.

You broke free from my curse at last,

and became an angel once again.

I lay in the rust-colored dirt alone,

watching the world fade,

until you were the only one left.

Apart from your hold,

my petals began to furl—

grasping both joy and pain

in a final golden breath.

Then the carefree wind

carried me away.