Unseasoned daffodils push sampling shoots into the air.

Do they wonder why they have been summoned so early,

Ask why there was no frost to hold them sleeping for just a few weeks more?

Will they understand when their pale probes greenly ripen too quickly, when their flowers bloom and fall before their time?

Who will notice they have come and gone?

Hearts once burning full, turn silent cold;

Hands stiffened by absence no longer reach for a caress.

Heat too fast does not burn away pain, but scars.

Who will risk that touch?

The daffodils rise to an orange sky,

Pushed through scorched earth

Littered with the skeletons of those who could not run fast enough.

Who will be left to breathe when the earth burns and the skies fill with ash?

Who will be left to drink water poisoned by glittering fallout?

Who will be left waiting for daffodils when the inferno consumes it all?