The Field Where Daffodils Wait for Her

The Field Where Daffodils Wait for Her

They bloom where morning softly sighs,

Beneath the pale and tender skies,

A golden sea in winds that stir—

The field where daffodils wait for her.

She used to run with open hands,

Bare feet across the sunlit land,

A laugh that danced, a voice so clear,

Now only silence lingers here.

Each flower sways like memory’s breath,

Each stem a vow untouched by death,

Though years have passed, they still confer—

The daffodils that wait for her.

They watched her grow, and saw her leave,

Through every joy, through every grief,

And still they bloom, though unaware

If she’ll return to meet them there.

I walk alone where once she played,

The same old path, now faintly laid.

And in the hush, the blooms infer—

They still believe, they wait for her.

Sometimes I hear her in the breeze,

A ghost among the trembling trees,

Or see her in a flash of gold,

A glimpse the aching heart will hold.

I kneel among the flowers now,

My head bent low, my soul in vow,

And whisper soft, like spring’s return—

"She loved you once. You still shall burn."

So let them bloom, let time recur,

In that bright field that waits for her.