Spring was late this year.
February and March
lingered almost to May.

The daffodils,
a month late,
just started to bloom
in her last days, even though she
could no longer see them.

And no longer cared.

The timing was exquisite, though,
as though they were waiting,
all rising in honor
as she was walking away.

The Daffodil Lady’s last walk.
But “Stand up,” they were told.
“Pay your respects.
She is passing.”

They blazed through the week of
sadness and weeping and goodbyes,
then a few extra days for good measure.

They’re fading in their time.
We move on together.
As it should be.
As she would understand.

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