My Narcissus blooms this time of year.

Pushing its way up through a shrub to magically appear.

Taller than its stature, but thinner each time it arrives.

Someday the shrub will get it, and its perennial lives.  

But not the fragile beauty of its flower.  

Growing translucently whiter by the hour.

Until it emerges, showing its pretty yellow face.

Until it impresses the winter weary human race.

A flower not unlike my Valentine.

Fragile beauty struggling to keep in time.  

This time of year she needs a little pick me up.

Something strong and sweet to fill her cup.

Beauty is a fleeting thing.

It will leave her with a bitter ring.

Love is better said and done.

Let her know that she's the one.

Beauty is a narcissistic fling.

Love is the real thing.

Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull



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