Wouldn’t daffodils
stay wrapped in their green shells,
hands hiding their eyes,
and inhale back into earth
if it were really time for war?

But, alas, they
have no say, no predictive powers —
they sway with the winds,
bloom out of control — they only
have power to ask us why? where?

It is a wonder
they are so kind to stretch bright,
to not curse us
or turn black in protest,
though their disobedience

would be a welcome
addition to our own.
Their resolve
would turn the world over
and hold firm in our darkest times.