Prima Rosa

You don’t get to choose the gifts you receive

Oh I know sometimes they arrive just the way that you want them:

Rainbows splitting a rain laden sky

A burst of daffodils trumpeting spring

A sudden shaft of sunlight on the waters of the Clyde,

Moving,

Opening,

Illuminating.

But sometimes they come quietly

And do not trumpet their presence.

Just sit quiet on the forest floor

Soft, damp and kissed by rain drops

Not white, not gold, not daffodil-yellow

Just primrose pale

The palest of petals.

Prima Rosa:

First flower of spring.